LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

'SAN  01  EGO 


[Jtfay,  1838. 

IMPORTANT   WORKS 

JUST    PUBLISHED   BY 

HARPER   &    BROTHERS,    NEW-YORK. 


Alice  ;  or,  The  Mysteries :  a  Sequel  to  "  Ernest  Mal- 
travers."  By  the  Author  of  "  Pelham,"  "  Rienzi,"  &c.,  &c.  In 
2  vols.  12mo. 

Retrospect  of  Western  Travel.  By  Harriett  Marti- 
neau,  Author  of  "  Society  in  America."  2  vols.  12mo. 

The  Works  of  Charles  Lamb.  To  which  are  pre- 
fixed his  Letters,  and  a  Sketch  of  his  Life,  by  Thomas  Noon  Tal- 
fourd.  2  vols.  12mo.  Portrait. 

A  Journal  of  Travels  on  the  Continent  of  Europe  :  viz., 

in  England,  Ireland,  Scotland,  France,  Italy,  Switzerland,  some 
Parts  of  Germany,  and  the  Netherlands,  during  the  Years  1835 
and  '36.  By  Wilbur  Fisk,  D.D.  8vo.  With  Engravings. 

Memoirs  of  Aaron  Burr.  With  Miscellaneous  Selec- 
tions from  his  Correspondence.  2  vols.  8vo.  Portraits. 

A  New  Hieroglyphical  Bible,  with  400  Cuts  by  Ad- 
ams. 16mo. 

Incidents  of  Travel  in  Egypt,  Arabia  Petraea,  and  the 

Holy  Land.    2  vols.  12mo.    Fifth  Edition.    With  Engravings. 

The  Narrative  of  Arthur  Gordon  Pym  of  Nantucket. 

Comprising  the  Details  of  a  Mutiny  and  atrocious  Butchery  on 
board  the  American  Brig  Grampus  on  her  Way  to  the  South  Seas 
in  the  Month  of  June,  1827,  &c.,  &c.,  &c.  12mo.  Engravings. 

The  Economy  of  Health ;  or,  the  Stream  of  Human 

Life  from  the  Cradle  to  the  Grave.  With  Reflections,  Moral, 
Physical,  and  Philosophical,  on  the  Septennial  Phases  of  Human 
Existence.  By  James  Johnson,  M.D.  18mo. 

The  Monk  of  Cimies.  By  Mrs.  Sherwood.  12mo. 
Engravings.  [Vol.  XIV.  of  her  Works.] 

Henry  Milner.     Complete.     [Vol.  XV.  of  Mrs.  Sher- 
wood's Works.] 
Sacred  History  of  the  World.     By  Sharon  Turner. 

Vol.  III.    [No.  83  of  the  Family  Library.] 

Scenery  of  the  Heavens.  By  Thomas  Dick,  LL.D., 
Author  of  "  Christian  Philosopher,"  &c.  18mo.  Engravings. 

Embassy  to  the  Eastern  Courts  of  Cochin-China,  Siam, 
and  Muscat.  By  Edmund  Roberts.  8ro. 


t  New  Works  Published  by  Harper  <J-  Brothers. 

Leila ;  or,  the  Siege  of  Grenada.     By  E.  L.  Bulwer, 

Esq.,  Author  of  "  Eugene  Aram,"  &c.    12mo. 

Ernest  Maltravers.     By   the   Author  of  "  Pelham," 

"  Rienzi,"  &c.    2  vols.  12mo. 

Attila.     By  the  Author  of  "  Richelieu,"  "  Philip  Augus  - 

tus,"  "  The  Gipsy,"  &c.    2  vols.  12mo. 

Pelayo :  a  Story  of  the  Goth.     By  the  Author  of  "  Guy 

Rivers,"  "  Mellichampe,"  &c.    2  vols.  12mo. 

Burton  ;  or,  the  Sieges.     By  the  Author  of  "  Lafitte," 

&c.    2  vols.  12mo. 

Live  and  Let  Live  ;  or,  Domestic  Service  Illustrated. 
By  the  Author  of  "  The  Linwoods,"  "  The  Poor  Rich  Man,"  &c. 
18mo. 

A  Love  Token  for  Children.     By  the  Author  of  "  Live 

and  Let  Live,"  &c.    18mo. 
Cromwell :    a  Romance.     By  the  Author  of  "  The 

Brothers,"  &c.    2  vols.  12mo. 

Recollections  of  a  Southern  Matron.  By  the  Author 
of  "  Recollections  of  a  New-England  Housekeeper."  12mo. 

Falkner.     By  the  Author  of  "  Frankenstein,"  "  Lo- 

dore,"  &c.    12mo. 

Constance  Latimer ;  or,  the  Blind  Girl.     With  other 

Stories.     By  Mrs.  Emma  C.  Embury.     18mo. 

Anthonys  Series  of  Classical  Works  for  Schools  and  Col' 

leges,  now  in  the  course  of  publication. 
IC?  The  following  works,  already  published,  may  be  regarded  as 
specimens  of  the  whole  series,  which  will  consist  of  about  thirty 
volumes. 

Sallust's  Jugurthine  War  and  Conspiracy  of  Catiline, 
with  an  English  Commentary,  and  Geographical  and  Historical 
Indexes.  By  Charles  Anthon,  LL.D.  Sixth  Edition,  corrected 
and  enlarged.  12mo.  With  a  Portrait. 

Select  Orations  of  Cicero,  with  an  English  Commen- 
tary, and  Historical,  Geographical,  and  Legnl  Indexes.  By 
Charles  Anthon,  LL.D.,  &c.  12mo.  Third  Edition. 

Caesar.  With  Notes,  &c.,  by  Professor  Anthon.  12mo. 
With  a  Map  of  Ancient  Gaul,  and  Plans  of  Battles,  Sieges,  &c. 

A  Grammar  of  the  Greek  Language,  for  the  Uso  of 

Schools  and  Colleges,  with  Teutonic,  Gothic,  Sclavonic,  Gaelic. 
Sanscrit,  and  Zend  Analogies.     By  C.  Anthon,  LL.D.     12mo. 

A  System  of  Greek  Prosody  and  Metre,  with  Illustra- 
tions of  the  Choral  Scanning  in  the  Dramatic  Writers.  By  C. 
Anthon,  LL.D.  12mo. 


THE 


LADY    OF     LYONS; 


OR, 

LOVE   AND    PRIDE. 

A    PLAY 
IN    FIVE    ACTS, 

A8    PERFORMED  AT   THE  THEATRE   ROYAL   COVENT   GARDEN. 


AUTHOR  OF  «PELHAM,"  "RIENZI,"  "THE  STUDENT,' 
"EUGENE  ARAM,"  "LEILA,1'  &<=-,  &c. 


FROM    THE    SECOND    LONDON    EDITION. 

w 

NEW-YORK: 
HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  82  CLIFF-STREET. 

1838. 


TO 


THE   AUTHOR  OF  "ION," 


THE  NATIONAL  DRAMA, 

THIS  PLAY  IS  INSCRIBED 
A3 


to 


PREFACE. 


AN  indistinct  recollection  of  the  very  pretty  little  tale 
called  "  Perouse,  or  the  Bellows-mender,"  suggested 
the  plot  of  this  drama.  The  incidents  are,  however, 
greatly  altered  from  those  in  Perouse,  and  the  charac- 
ters entirely  recast.  In  the  selection  of  the  time  in 
which  the  play  has  been  laid,  I  was  guided  naturally 
and  solely,  by  the  wish  to  take  that  period  in  which 
the  incidents  might  be  rendered  most  probable,  and  in 
which  the  probationary  career  of  the  hero,  m  the  fifth 
act — upon  which  the  denouement,  and,  indeed,  the  de- 
sign depends — might  be  sufficiently  rapid  for  dramatic 
effect,  and  (on  account  of  that  very  rapidity)  in  accord- 
ance with  the  ordinary  character  and  events  of  the  age. 
The  early  years  of  the  first  and  most  brilliant  successes 
of  the  French  republic  appeared  to  constitute  the  only 
epoch  in  which  these  objects  could  be  attained.  It 
was  a  period  when,  in  the  general  ferment  of  society 
and  the  brief  equalization  of  ranks,  Claude's  high- 
placed  love,  his  ardent  feelings,  his  unsettled  princi- 
ples— the  struggle  between  which  makes  the  passion 
of  this  drama — his  ambition,  and  his  career,  were  phe- 
nomena that  characterized  the  time  itself,  and  in  which 
the  spirit  of  the  nation  went  along  with  the  extrava- 
gance of  the  individual.  In  some  respects,  Claude 
Melnotte  is  a  type  of  that  restless,  brilliant,  and  eva- 


VU1  PREFACE. 

nescent  generation  that  sprung  up  from  the  ashes  of  thfl 
terrible  revolution ;  men  born  to  be  agents  of  the  genius 
of  Napoleon,  to  accomplish  the  most  marvellous  ex- 
ploits, and  to  leave  but  little  of  permanent  triumph  and 
solid  advantage  to  the  succeeding  race. 

In  selecting  this  period  as  one  best  suited  to  the 
development  of  a  story  which  seemed  to  me  rich  in 
materials  of  dramatic  interest,  I  can  honestly  say  that 
I  endeavoured,  as  much  as  possible,  to  avoid  every  po- 
litical allusion  applicable  to  our  own  time  and  land,  our 
own  party  prejudices  and  passions.  How  difficult  a 
task  this  was,  a  reference  to  any  drama,  in  which  the 
characters  are  supposed  to  live  under  republican  insti- 
tutions, will  prove  I  There  is  scarcely  a  single  play 
the  scene  of  which  is  laid  in  Rome,  in  Greece,  in  Switz- 
erland, wherein  political  allusions  and  political  decla- 
mations are  not  carefully  elaborated  as  the  most  stri- 
king and  telling  parts  of  the  performance.* 

The  principal  fault  of  this  play,  as  characteristic  of 
the  time,  is  perhaps,  indeed,  the  too  cautious  avoidance 
of  all  those  references  to  liberty  and  equality  in  which, 
no  doubt,  every  man  living  at  that  day  would  have  hour- 
ly indulged.  The  old  and  classical  sentiment,  that  vir- 
tue is  nobility  (virtus  est  sola  nobilitas),  contains  the 
pith  of  all  the  political  creed  announced  by  Claude 
Melnotte  ;  and  that  sentiment  is  the  founder,  and  often 
the  motto,  of  aristocracy  itself.  It  is  a  sentiment  that 
never  will,  I  trust,  be  considered  revolutionary  in  a 
country  which  boasts,  among  its  proudest  names,  the 

*  The  noble  tragedy  of  "  Ion"  has  for  its  very  plot,  its  very  catas- 
trophe, almost  its  very  moral,  the  abolition  of  royalty  and  the  estab- 
lishment of  a  republic  ;  yet  no  one  would  suspect  Sergeant  Talfourd 
of  designing  the  overthrow  of  the  British  Constitution. 


PREFACE.  IX 

Wellesleys  and  the  Russells,  the  Stanleys  and  the 
Howards.  It  is  one  which  the  scribblers,  sprung  from 
a  dunghill,  may  be  assured  that  there  are  few  men  of 
blood  and  birth  who  will  disavow.  In  fact,  the  enthu- 
siasm of  Claude  is  far  more  that  of  a  soldier  than  a  cit- 
izen ;*  and  it  is  not  the  reasoner  nor  the  politician,  but 
the  man,  with  his  feelings  and  his  struggles,  with 
whom  the  audience  sympathize  when  he  glories  in  the 
redemption  of  his  name.  It  is  perfectly  clear  that  nei- 
ther the  English  author  nor  the  English  audience  can 
recognise  much  in  harmony  with  their  own  sentiments 
when  Claude  declares  that  the  gold  he  has  won  in  the 
campaign  of  Italy  "  is  hallowed  in  the  cause  of  nations  /" 
The  question  for  us  to  consider  is,  not  whether  an  Eng- 
lishman or  a  philosopher  would  think  that  there  was 
any  sanctity  in  the  principles  of  that  brilliant  war,  but 
whether  an  enthusiastic  soldier  under  Napoleon  would 
not  have  believed  it.  Our  national  prepossessions  and 
prejudices  ;  our  closeness  to  an  age,  the  false  glitter 
of  which  we  can  so  well  detect,  alike,  I  hope,  guard 
us  against  all  political  infection  from  a  play  cast  in  a 
time  when  the  coming  shadow  of  a  military  despotism 
was  already  darkening  the  prospects  of  an  unwise  and 
weak  republic  ;  and  if  there  be  anywhere  the  antipodes 

*  The  allusion  to  the  rapidity  of  promotion  in  the  French  army 
was  absolutely  necessary  to  the  conduct  of  the  story  ;  and,  after  all, 
it  is  expressed  in  language  borrowed  and  adapted  from  that  very  Ja- 
cobinical authority,  Horatio  Viscount  Nelson.  Nor  is  it  easy  to  con- 
ceive how  the  sentiment,  that  merit,  not  money,  should  purchase 
promotion  in  the  army,  can  be  called  a  republican  doctrine ;  since, 
though  it  certainly  did  pervade  the  French  republican  army,  it  incul- 
cates a  principle  far  more  common  in  despotic  countries  than  under 
free  institutions.  We  must  look  to  the  annals  of  the  East  for  the  most 
frequent  examples  of  the  rise  of  fortunate  soldier*. 


X  PREFACE.  , 

to  the  French  Jacobin  of  the  last  century,  it  is  the  Eng- 
lish reformer  of  the  present.  For  ray  own  part,  I  never 
met  with  any  one,  however  warm  a  lover  of  abstract 
liberty,  who  had  a  sympathy  with  the  principles  of  the 
directory  and  the  government  of  M.  Barras.  But  enough 
in  contradiction  of  a  charge  which  the  whole  English 
public  have  ridiculed  and  scouted,  and  which  has  sought 
to  introduce  into  the  free  domains  of  art  all  the  miser- 
able calumnies  and  wretched  spleen  of  party  hostilities. 

The  faults  of  the  play  itself  I  do  not  seek  to  defend  : 
such  faults  are  the  fair  and  just  materials  for  criticism 
and  cavil.  I  am  perfectly  aware  that  it  is  a  very  slight 
and  trivial  performance,  and,  being  written  solely  for 
the  stage,  may  possess  but  a  feeble  interest  in  the 
closet.  It  was  composed  with  a  twofold  object.  In 
the  first  place,  sympathizing  with  the  enterprise  of  Mr. 
Macready,  as  manager  of  Covent  Garden,  and  believing 
that  many  of  the  higher  interests  of  the  drama  were  in- 
volved in  the  success  or  failure  of  an  enterprise  equally 
hazardous  and  disinterested,  I  felt,  if  I  may  so  presume 
to  express  myself,  something  of  the  brotherhood  of  art ; 
and  it  was  only  for  Mr.  Macready  to  think  it  possible 
that  I  might  serve  him  to  induce  me  to  make  the  attempt, 

Secondly,  in  that  attempt  I  was  mainly  anxious  to  see 
whether  or  not  certain  critics  had  truly  declared  that  it 
was  not  in  my  power  to  attain  the  art  of  dramatic  con- 
struction and  theatrical  effect.  I  felt,  indeed,  that  it 
was  in  this  that  a  writer,  accustomed  to  the  narrative 
class  of  composition,  would  have  the  most  both  to  learn 
and  to  unlearn.  Accordingly,  it  was  to  the  develop- 
ment of  the  plot  and  the  arrangement  of  the  incidents 
that  I  directed  my  chief  attention;  and  I  sought  to 


PREPACK.  Xi 

throw  whatever  belongs  to  poetry  less  into  the  diction 
and  the  "  felicity  of  words"  than  into  the  construction 
of  the  story,  the  creation  of  the  characters,  and  the 
spirit  of  the  pervading  sentiment.  With  this  acknowl- 
edgment, may  I  hazard  a  doubt  whether  any  more  or- 
nate or  more  elevated  style  of  language  would  be  so 
appropriate  to  the  rank  of  the  characters  introduced, 
or  would  leave  so  clear  and  uninterrupted  an  effect  to 
the  strength  and  progress  of  that  domestic  interest  which 
(since  I  do  not  arrogate  the  entire  credit  of  its  inven- 
tion) I  may,  perhaps,  be  allowed  to  call  the  chief  at- 
traction of  the  play. 

Having,  on  presenting  this  drama  to  the  theatre,  con» 
fided  the  secret  of  its  authorship  to  the  manager  alone  ; 
having,  therefore,  induced  no  party,  no  single  friend  or 
favourer  of  my  own,  to  attend  the  early  performances 
which  decided  its  success,  I  hope  that  on  my  side 
*'  The  Lady  of  Lyons"  has  been  fairly  left  to  the  ver- 
dict of  the  public  ;  let  me  now  also  hope  an  equal  fair- 
ness from  those  who  wish  to  condemn  the  politician  in 
the  author.  I  have  no  intention  of  writing  again  for 
the  stage  ;  and,  therefore,  so  far  as  my  own  experiment 
is  concerned,  I  have  but  little  to  hope  or  fear.  Do  not 
let  those  who  love  the  literature  of  the  drama  discourr 
age  other  men,  immeasurably  more  fitted  to  adorn  it, 
solely  because  in  a  free  country  they  may,  like  the  au- 
thor of  this  play,  have  ventured  elsewhere  to  express 
political  opinions. 

I  cannot  conclude  without  expressing  my  high  sense 
of  the  care  with  which  the  '*  Lady  of  Lyons"  was  in* 
troduced  on  the  stage  ;  of  its  obligations  to  Mr.  Mac* 
ready,  not  less  as  a  manager  who  neglected  no  detail 


Xll  PREFACE. 

that  could  conduce  to  the  effect  of  the  representation, 
than  as  an  actor  who  realized  and  exalted  every  design 
of  the  author.  The  power  and  pathos  which  Miss 
Faucit's  acting  infused  into  language  that  will  seem 
comparatively  tame  and  cold  to  the  reader;  the  easy 
skill  with  which  Mr.  Hartley  threw  his  own  racy  and 
vigorous  humour  into  the  character  of  Colonel  Damas  , 
the  zeal  and  ability  which,  in  Mr.  Elton's  Beauseant, 
relieved  and  elevated  a  part  necessarily  unpleasing  to 
an  actor  of  his  station  ;  and  the  performances,  so  ac 
curate  and  spirited,  of  the  characters  less  prominent  in 
the  development  of  the  story,  especially  of  Mrs.  Clif- 
ford and  Mr.  Meadows,  have  already  received  a  fai 
higher  reward  than  the  acknowledgment  of  the  author, 
in  the  cordial  applauses  of  the  audience. 

E.  L.  B. 

London,  February  26,  1838. 


THE  LADY  OF   LYONS. 


B 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 


Beauseant  (a  rich  gentleman  of  Lyons, 

in  love  with,  and  refused  by,  Pauline 

Deschappelles)    .         .        .         .         MR.  ELTOH. 
Glavis  (his  friend,  also  a  rejected  suiter 

to  Pauline)          ....         MR.  MEADOWS. 
Colonel,    afterward    General,    Damas 

(cousin  to  Madame  Deschapelles,  and 

an  officer  in  the  French  army)      .         MR.  HARTLEY. 
Monsieur    Deschappelles   (a  Lyonnese 

merchant,  father  to  Pauline)         .         MR.  STRICKLAND. 
Landlord  of  the  Golden  Lion        .        MR.  YARNOLD. 
Gaspar  .  *     .        „        —*  MR.  DIDDEAR. 

Claude  Melnotte    ....        MR.  MACREADY. 
First  Officer      } 

Second  Officer  >  MESSRS.  HOWE,  PRITCHARD,  AND  ROBERTS. 
Third  Officer    J 

Servants,  Notary,  Jfc. 

Madame  Deschappelles     .         .         MRS.  CLIFFORD. 
Pauline  (her  daughter)        .         .         Miss  HELEN  FAUCIT. 

The    Widow    Melnotte    (mother  to 

Claude)  ...         .         .         MRS.  GRIFFITH. 

Janet  (the  innkeeper's  daughter)  MRS.  EAST. 

Marian  (maid  to  Pauline)    .        .         Miss  GARRICK. 


Scene — Lyons  and  the  neighbourhood 
Time,  1795-1798. 


THE 

LADY   OF    LYONS; 

OR, 

LOVE    AND    PRIDE. 


ACT    I. 
SCENE    I. 

A  room  in  the  house  of  M.  Deschappelles,  at  Lyons. 
Pauline  reclining  on  a  sofa ;  Marian,  her  maid,  fan- 
ning her.  Flowers  and  notes  on  a  table  beside  the 
sofa.  Madame  Deschappelles  seated.  The  gardens 
are  seen  from  the  open  window. 

MADAME    DE8CHAF. 

Marian,  put  that  rose  a  little  more  to  the  left. 

(Marian  alters  the  position  of  a  rose  in  Pauline1  s 

hair.) 

Ah,  so !  that  improves  the  air,  the  tournure,  the  je  ne 
sqais  quoi  !  You  are  certainly  very  handsome,  child  ! 
quite  my  style  !  I  don't  wonder  that  you  make  such  a 
sensation !  Old,  young,  rich,  and  poor  do  homage  to 
the  Beauty  of  Lyons  !  Ah,  we  live  again  in  our  chil- 
dren, especially  when  they  have  our  eyes  and  com- 
plexion ! 

PAULINE  (languidly), 

Dear  mother,  you  will  spoil  your  Pauline !    (Aside) 
I  wish  I  knew  who  sent  me  these  flowers ! 


16  THE    LADY    OF   LYONS  ;  [ACT   I. 

MADAME    DESCHAP. 

No,  child !  if  I  praise  you,  it  is  only  to  inspire  you  with 
a  proper  ambition.  You  are  born  to  make  a  great  mar- 
riage. Beauty  is  valuable  or  worthless  according  as 
you  invest  the  property  to  the  best  advantage.  Ma- 
rian, go  and  order  the  carriage !  [Exit  Marian. 

PAULINE. 

Who  can  it  be  that  sends  me  every  day  these  beau- 
tiful flowers  ?  how  sweet  they  are  ! 

(Enter  servant.) 

SERVANT. 
Monsieur  Beauseant,  madam. 

MADAME    DESCHAP. 

Let  him  enter.  Pauline,  this  is  another  offer!  I 
know  it  is  !  Your  father  should  engage  an  additional 
clerk  to  keep  the  account-book  of  your  conquests. 

(Enter  Beauseant.) 

BEAUSEANT. 

Ah,  ladies,  how  fortunate  I  am  to  find  you  at  home  ! 
(Aside)  How  lovely  she  looks  !  It  is  a  great  sacrifice 
I  make  in  marrying  into  a  family  in  trade !  they  will 
be  eternally  grateful !  (Aloud)  Madame,  you  will 
permit  me  a  word  with  your  charming  daughter.  (Ap- 
proaches Pauline,  who  rises  disdainfully)  Mademoiselle, 
I  have  ventured  to  wait  upon  you,  in  a  hope  that  you 
must  long  since  have  divined.  Last  night,  when  you 
outshone  all  the  beauty  of  Lyons,  you  completed  your 
conquest  over  me  !  You  know  that  my  fortune  is  not 
exceeded  by  any  estate  in  the  province ;  you  know 
that,  but  for  the  revolution,  which  has  defrauded  me  of 
rny  titles,  I  should  be  noble.  May  I,  then,  trust  that 
you  will  not  reject  my  alliance  ?  I  offer  you  my  hand 
and  heart. 


SCENE    I.]  OR,    LOVE    AND    PRIDE.  17 

PAULINE  (aside). 

He  has  the  air  of  a  man  who  confers  a  favour! 

(Aloud)  Sir,  you  are  very  condescending ;  I  thank  you 

numbly  ;  but,  being  duly  sensible  of  my  own  demerits, 

you  must  allow  me  to  decline  the  honour  you  propose. 

(Courtesies,  and  turns  away.) 

BEAUSEANT, 

Decline !  impossible !  you  are  not  serious !  Ma- 
dame, suffer  me  to  appeal  to  you,  I  am  a  suiter  for 
your  daughter's  hand  ;  the  settlements  shall  be  worthy 
her  beauty  and  my  station.  May  I  wait  on  M.  Des- 
chappelles  ? 

MADAME    DESCHAP. 

M.  Deschappelles  never  interferes  in  the  domestic 
arrangements ;  you  are  very  obliging.  If  you  were 
still  a  marquis,  or  if  my  daughter  were  intended  to 
marry  a  commoner,  why,  perhaps,  we  might  give  you 
the  preference. 

BEAUSEANT. 

A  commoner !  we  are  all  commoners  in  France  now. 

MADAME    DESCHAP. 

In  France,  yes ;  but  there  is  a  nobility  still  left  in 
the  other  countries  in  Europe.  We  are  quite  aware 
of  your  good  qualities,  and  don't  doubt  that  you  will 
find  some  lady  more  suitable  to  your  pretensions.  We 
shall  be  always  happy  to  see  you  as  an  acquaintance, 
M.  Beauseant !  My  dear  child,  the  carriage  will  be 
here  presently. 

BKAUSEANT. 

Say  no  more,  madame !    say  no  more !      (Aside) 

Refused !  and  by  a  merchant's  daughter !  refused  !     It 

will  be  all  over  Lyons  before  sunset !     I  will  go  and 

bury  myself  in  my.  chateau,  study  philosophy,  and  turn 

B2 


18  THE  LADY  OF  LYONS  ;       [ACT  I. 

womanhater.  Refused !  they  ought  to  be  sent  to  a 
madhouse  !  Ladies,  I  have  the  honour  to  wish  you  a 
very  good-morning.  [Exit  Beauseant. 

MADAME    DESCHAP. 

How  forward  these  men  are !  I  think,  child,  we 
Kept  up  our  dignity.  Any  girl,  however  inexperienced, 
Tinows  how  to  accept  an  offer,  but  it  requires  a  vast 
deal  of  address  to  refuse  one  with  proper  condescen- 
sion and  disdain.  I  used  to  practise  it  at  school  with 
the  dancing-master ! 

(Enter  Damas.) 

DAMAS. 

Good-morning,  Cousin  Deschappelles.  Well,  Pau- 
line, are  you  recovered  from  last  night's  ball  ?  So 
many  triumphs  must  be  very  fatiguing.  Even  M. 
Glavis  sighed  most  piteously  when  you  departed ;  but 
that  might  be  the  effect  of  the  supper. 

PAULINE. 

M.  Glavis,  indeed ! 

MADAME    DESCHAP. 

M.  Glavis !  as  if  my  daughter  would  think  of  M. 
Glavis ! 

DAMAS. 

Heyday !  why  not  ?  His  father  left  him  a  very 
pretty  fortune,  and  his  birth  is  higher  than  yours, 
Cousin  Deschappelles.  But  perhaps  you  are  looking 
to  M.  Beauseant ;  his  father  was  a  marquis  before  the 
revolution. 

PAULINE. 

M.  Beausant!  Cousin,  you  delight  in  tormenting 
me! 

MADAME    DESCHAP. 

Don't  mind  him,  Pauline !     Cousin   Damas,  you 


SCENE    I.]  OR,   LOVE    AND   PRIDE.  19 

have  no  susceptibility  of  feeling ;  there  is  a  certain  in- 
delicacy in  all  your  ideas.  M.  Beauseant  knows  al- 
ready that  he  is  no  match  for  my  daughter ! 

DAMAS. 

Pooh!  pooh!  one  would  think  you  intended  your 
daughter  to  marry  a  prince ! 

MADAME    DESCHAP. 

Well,  and  if  I  did  ?  what  then  ?  Many  a  foreign 
prince — 

DAMAS  (interrupting  her). 

Foreign  prince  !  foreign  fiddlestick  1  You  ought  to 
be  ashamed  of  such  nonsense  at  your  time  of  life. 

MADAME    DESCHAP. 

My  time  of  life  !  That  is  an  expression  never  ap- 
plied to  any  lady  till  she  is  sixty-nine  and  three  quar- 
ters ;  and  only  then  by  the  clergyman  of  the  parish. 

(Enter  servant.) 

SERVANT. 

Madame,  the  carriage  is  at  the  door. 

[Exit  servant. 

MADAME    DESCHAP. 

Come,  child,  put  on  your  bonnet ;  you  really  have 
a  very  thoroughbred  air ;  not  at  all  like  your  poor  fa- 
ther. (Fondly)  Ah,  you  little  coquette  !  when  a  young 
lady  is  always  making  mischief,  it  is  a  sure  sign  that 
she  takes  after  her  mother ! 

PAULINE. 

Good-day,  Cousin  Damas,  and  a  better  humour  to 
you  (going  back  to  the  table  and  taking  the  flowers). 
Who  could  have  sent  me  these  flowers  ? 

[Exeunt  Pauline  and  Madame  Deschappelles. 


20  THE  LADY  OF  LYONS  ;       [ACT  I. 

DAM  AS. 

That  would  be  an  excellent  girl  if  her  head  had  not 
been  turned.  I  fear  she  is  now  become  incorrigible  ! 
Zounds,  what  a  lucky  fellow  I  am  to  be  still  a  bache- 
lor !  They  may  talk  of  the  devotion  of  the  sex,  but 
the  most  faithful  attachment  in  life  is  that  of  a  woman 
in  love — with  herself!  [Exit. 


SCENE  II. 

The  exterior  of  a  small  village  inn — sign  the  Golden 
Lion — a  few  leagues  from  Lyons,  which,  is  seen  at  a 
distance. 

BEAUSEAXT  (behind  the  scenes). 

Yes,  you  may  bait  the  horses ;  we  shall  rest  here  an 
hour. 

(Enter  Beauseant  and  Glavis.) 
GLAVIS. 

Really,  my  dear  Beauseant,  consider  that  I  have 
promised  to  spend  a  day  or  two  with  you  at  your  cha- 
teau ;  that  I  am  quite  at  your  mercy  for  my  entertain- 
ment ;  and  yet  you  are  as  silent  and  as  gloomy  as  a 
mute  at  a  funeral  or  an  Englishman  at  a  party  of  pleas- 
ure. 

BEAUSEANT. 

Bear  with  me !  the  fact  is  that  I  am  miserable. 

GLAVIS. 
You,  the  richest  and  gayest  bachelor  in  Lyons  ? 

BEAUSEANT. 

It  is  because  I  am  a  bachelor  that  I  am  miserable. 


SCENE  II.]  OR,    LOVE   AND   PRIDE.  21 

Thou  knowst  Pauline,  the  only  daughter  of  the  rich 
merchant,  Mons.  Deschappelles  1 


Know  her !  who  does  not  ?  as  pretty  as  Venus  and 
as  proud  as  Juno. 

BEATJSEANT. 

Her  taste  is  worse  than  her  pride  (drawing  himself 
tip).  Know,  Glavis,  she  has  actually  refused  me ! 

GLAVIS  (aside). 

So  she  has  me!  very  consoling!  In  all  cases  of 
heartache,  the  application  of  another  man's  disappoint- 
ment draws  out  the  pain  and  allays  the  irritation. 
(Aloud)  Refused  you  !  and  wherefore  ?  • 

BEAUSEANT. 

I  know  not,  unless  it  be  because  the  revolution  swept 
away  my  father's  title  of  marquis,  and  she  will  not 
marry  a  commoner.  Now,  as  we  have  no  noblemen  in 
France,  as  we  are  all  citizens  and  equals,  she  can  only 
hope  that,  in  spite  of  the  war,  some  English  milord  or 
German  count  will  risk  his  life  by  coming  to  Lyons 
and  making  her  my  lady.  Refused  me,  and  with  scorn ! 
By  Heaven,  I'll  not  submit  to  it  tamely  ;  I'm  in  a  per- 
fect fever  of  mortification  and  rage.  Refuse  me,  in- 
deed ! 

GLAVIS. 

Be  comforted,  my  dear  fellow  ;  I  will  tell  you  a  se- 
cret. For  the  same  reason  she  refused  MB  ! 

B  EAtTS  EANT. 

You !  that's  a  very  different  matter !  But  give  me 
your  hand,  Glavis ;  we'll  think  of  some  plan  to  humble 
her.  By  Jove,  I  should  like  to  see  her  married  to  a 
strolling  player ! 


22  THK    LADY    OF   LYONS  ;  [ACT    I. 

(Enter  landlord  and  his  daughter  from  the  inn.) 

LANDLORD. 

Your  servant,  Citizen  Beauseant;  servant,  sir. 
Perhaps  you  will  take  dinner  before  you  proceed  to 
your  chateau  ;  our  larder  is  most  plentifully  supplied. 

BEAUSEANT. 

.:      ,-,\,,\    C-,1. 

I  have  no  appetite. 

OLAVIS. 

Nor  I.  Still  it  i  i  bad  travelling  on  an  empty  stom- 
ach. What  have  you  got  ? 

( Takes  and  looks  over  the  bill  of  fare.) 

(Shout  without)  "  Long  live  the  prince  !  Long  live 
the  prince !" 

—  BEAUSEANT. 

The  prince !  what  prince  is  that  ?  I  thought  we 
had  no  princes  left  in  France. 

LANDLORD. 

Ha,  ha  !  the  lads  always  call  him  prince.  He  has 
just  won  the  prize  in  the  shooting-match,  and  they  are 
taking  him  home  in  triumph. 

BEAUSEANT. 

Him !  and  who's  Mr.  Him  1 

LANDLORD. 

Who  should  he  be  but  the  pride  of  the  village, 
Claude  Melnotte  ?  Of  course  you  have  heard  of  Claude 
Melnotte  ? 

GLAVIS  (giving  back  the  bill  of  fare). 

Never  had  that  honour.  Soup,  ragout  of  hare,  roast 
chicken,  and,  in  short,  all  you  have ! 


SCENE  II.]          OR,    LOVE    AND  PRIDE.  23 

'*'''oJ  '  '»!    ?>;»  w*>fl  fu'i»'  j-?  •  vofti  v>di   *tc*  '«!}j*  *iR(rf'w 

BEAUSEANT. 

The  son  of  old  Melnotte  the  gardener  ? 

LANDLORD. 

Exactly  so  ;  a  wonderful  young  man. 

BEAUSEANT. 

How  wonderful  ?  are  his  cabbages  better  than  other 
people's  ? 

LANDLORD. 

Nay,  he  don't  garden  any  more  ;  his  father  left  him 
well  off.     He's  only  a  genus. 

GLAVIS. 

A  what  ? 


.  A  genus  !  a  man  who  can  do  everything  in  life,  ex- 
cept anything  that's  useful  ;  that's  a  genus. 

BEAUSEANT. 

You  raise  my  curiosity  :  proceed. 

LANDLORD. 

Well,  then,  about  four  years  ago  old  Melnotte  died 
and  left  his  son  well  to  do  in  the  world.  We  then  all 
observed  that  a  great  change  came  over  young  Claude  ; 
he  took  to  reading  and  Latin,  and  hired  a  professor 
from  Lyons,  who  had  so  much  in  his  head  that  he  was 
forced  to  wear  a  great,  full-bottom  wig  to  cover  it, 
Then  he  took  a  fencing-master,  and  a  dancing-master, 
and  a  music-master  ;  and  then  he  learned  to  paint  ; 
and  at  last  it  was  said  that  young  Claude  was  to  go 
to  Paris  and  set  up  for  a  painter.  The  lads  laughed 
at  him  at  first  ;  but  he  is  a  stout  fellow,  is  Claude,  and 
as  brave  as  a  lion,  and  soon  taught  them  to  laugh  the 


24  THE  LADY  OF  LYONS  ;       [ACT  I. 

wrong  side  of  their  mouths ;  and  now  all  the  boys 
swear  by  him  and  all  the  girls  pray  for  him. 


BEAUSEANT. 


A  promising  youth,  certainly  !  And  why  do  they 
call  him  prince  ? 

LANDLORD. 

Partly  because  he  is  at  the  head  of  them  all,  and 
partly  because  he  has  such  a  proud  way  with  him, 
and  wears  such  fine  clothes  ;  and,  in  short,  looks  like 
a  prince. 

BEAU8EANT. 

And  what  could  have  turned  the  foolish  fellow's 
brain  ?  The  revolution,  I  suppose  ? 

LANDLORD. 

Yes,  the  revolution  that  turns  us  all  topsyturvy — the 
revolution  of  love. 

BEArSEANT- 

Romantic  young  Oorydon  !  And  with  whom  is  he 
in  love  ? 

LANDLORD. 

Why — but  it  is  a  secret,  gentlemen. 

BEAUSEANT. 

Oh!  certainly. 

LANDLORD. 

Why,  then,  I  hear  from  his  mother,  good  soul !  that 
it  is  no  less  a  person  than  the  Beauty  of  Lyons,  Pau- 
line Deschappelles. 

BEAUSEANT    AND    GLAVIS. 

Ha!  ha!     Capital! 


SCENE  II.]          OR,   LOVE   AND   PRIDE.  25 

-••*-  '         ''4JI'-' 
LANDLORD. 

You  may  laugh,  but  it  is  as  true  as  I  stand  here. 

BEAUSEANT. 

And  what  does  the  Beauty  of  Lyons  say  to  his  suit? 

LANDLORD. 

Lord,  sir,  she  never  even  condescended  to  look  at 
him,  though  when  he  was  a  boy  he  worked  in  her  fa- 
ther's garden. 

BEAUSEANT. 

Are  you  sure  of  that  ? 

LANDLORD. 

His  mother  says  that  mademoiselle  does  not  know 
him  by  sight. 

BEAUSEANT  (taking  Glavis  aside). 

I  have  hit  it,  I  have  it ;  here  is  our  revenge !  Here 
is  a  prince  for  our  haughty  damsel.  Do  you  take  me  ? 

OLA  vis. 
Deuse  take  me  if  I  do ! 

BEAUSEANT. 

Blockhead!  it's  as  clear  as  a  map.  What  if  w« 
could  make  this  elegant  clown  pass  himself  off  as  a 
foreign  prince  ?  lend  him  money,  clothes,  equipage  for 
the  purpose  1  make  him  propose  to  Pauline  ?  marry 
Pauline  ?  Would  it  not  be  delicious  ? 

GLAVIS. 

Ha !  ha!  excellent !  But  how  shall  we  support  the 
necessary  expenses  of  his  highness  ? 

BEAUSEANT. 

Pshaw !     Revenge  is  worth  a  much  larger  sacrifice 
C 


26  THE  LADY  OF  LYONS;       [ACT  I. 

than  a  few  hundred  louis  ;  as  for  details,  my  valet  is 
the  trustiest  fellow  in  the  world,  and  shall  have  the 
appointment  of  his  highness's  establishment.  Let's 
go  to  him  at  once,  and  see  if  he  be  really  this  Admi- 
rable Crichton. 

GLAVIS. 

With  all  my  heart ;  but  the  dinner  1 

BEAUSEANT. 

Always  thinking  of  dinner!  Hark  ye,  landlord, 
how  far  is  it  to  young  Melnotte's  cottage  ?  I  should 
like  to  see  such  a  prodigy. 

LANDLORD. 

Turn  down  the  lane,  then  strike  across  the  common, 
and  you  will  see  his  mother's  cottage. 

BEAUSEANT. 

True,  he  lives  with  his  mother.  (Aside)  We  will 
not  trust  to  an  old  woman's  discretion ;  better  send  for 
him  hither.  I'll  just  step  in  and  write  him  a  note. 
Come,  Glavis. 

OLA  vis. 

Yes  ;  Beauseant,  Glavis,  and  Co.,  manufacturers  of 
princes,  wholesale  and  retail ;  an  uncommonly  genteel 
line  of  business.  But  why  so  grave  ? 

BEATJSEAjn1. 

You  think  only  of  the  sport,  I  of  the  revenge. 

[Exeunt  within  the  inn 


SCENE    III.]        OR,  LOVE   AND   PRIDE.  27 


SCENE  III. 

The  interior  of  Melnotte's  cottage ;  flowers  placed  here 
and  there  ;  a  guitar  on  an  oaken  table,  with  a  port- 
folio, £fc. ;  a  picture  on  an  easil,  covered  by  a  cur- 
tain ;  fencing-foils  crossed  over  the  mantelpiece;  an 
attempt  at  refinement  in  spite  of  the  homeliness  of  the 
furniture,  fyc. ;  a  staircase  to  the  right  conducts  to 
the  upper  story. 

(Shout  without)  "Long  live  Claude  Melnotte!" 
"  Long  live  the  prince  !" 

THE    WIDOW   MELNOTTE. 

Hark !  there's  my  dear  son ;  carried  off  the  prize, 
I'm  sure  :  and  now  he'll  want  to  treat  them  all. 

CLAUDE  MELNOTTE  (opening  the  door). 

What !  you  won't  come  in,  my  friends !  Well,  well, 
there's  a  trifle  to  make  merry  elsewhere.  Good-day 
to  you  all,  good-day. 

(Shout)  "  Hurrah !     Long  live  Prince  Claude !" 

(Enter  Claude  Melnotte,  with  a  rifle  in  his  hand.) 

MELNOTTE. 

Give  me  joy,  dear  mother !  I've  won  the  prize  ! 
never  missed  one  shot !  Is  it  not  handsome,  this  gun? 

WIDOW. 
Humph !     Well,  what  is  it  worth,  Claude  ? 

MELNOTTE. 

Worth!  What  is  a  riband  worth  to  a  soldier? 
Worth !  everything !  Glory  is  priceless  ! 


28  THE    LADY  OF   LYONS  ;  [ACT    I. 


WIDOW. 

Leave  glory  to  great  folks.  Ah !  Claude,  Claude, 
castles  in  the  air  cost  a  vast  deal  to  keep  up !  How 
is  all  this  to  end  ?  What  good  does  it  do  thee  to  learn 
Latin,  and  sing  songs,  and  play  on  the  guitar,  and  fence, 
and  dance,  and  paint  pictures  1  All  very  fine ;  but 
what  does  it  bring  in  ? 

• 

MELNOTTE. 

Wealth !  wealth,  my  mother !  Wealth  to  the  mind, 
wealth  to  the  heart,  high  thoughts,  bright  dreams,  the 
hope  of  fame,  the  ambition  to  be  worthier  to  love  Pau- 
line. 

WIDOW. 

My  poor  son !  The  young  lady  will  never  think  of 
thee. 

MELNOTTE. 

Do  the  stars  think  of  us  ?  Yet  if  the  prisoner  see 
them  shine  into  his  dungeon,  wouldst  thou  bid  him  turn 
away  from  their  lustre  ?  Even  so  from  this  low  cell, 
poverty,  I  lift  my  eyes  to  Pauline  and  forget  my  chains. 
(Goes  to  the  picture  and  draws  aside  the  curtain.} 
See,  this  is  her  image,  painted  from  memory.  Oh, 
how  the  canvass  wrongs  her ! 

(Takes  up  the  brush  and  throws  it  aside.) 
I  shall  never  be  a  painter.  I  can  paint  no  likeness  but 
one,  and  that  is  above  all  art.  I  would  turn  soldier ; 
France  needs  soldiers  !  But  to  leave  the  air  that  Pau- 
line breathes  !  What  is  the  hour  ?  so  late  ?  I  will 
tell  thee  a  secret,  mother.  Thou  knowst  that  for  the 
last  six  weeks  I  have  sent  every  day  the  rarest  flowers 
to  Pauline  ;  she  wears  them.  I  have  seen  them  on  her 
breast.  Ah,  and  then  the  whole  universe  seemed  filled 
with  odours  !  I  have  now  grown  more  bold ;  I  have 
poured  my  worship  into  poetry  ;  I  have  sent  the  verses 
to  Pauline  ;  I  have  signed  them  with  my  own  name. 


SCENE    III.]          OR,  LOVE    AND    PRIDE.  29 

My  messenger  ought  to  be  back  by  this  time  ;  I  bade 
him  wait  for  the  answer. 

WIDOW. 
And  what  answer  do  you  expect,  Claude  ? 

MELNOTTE. 

That  which  the  Queen  of  Navarre  sent  to  the  poor 
troubadour  :  "  Let  me  see  the  oracle  that  can  tell  na- 
tions I  am  beautiful !"  She  will  admit  me.  I  shall 
hear  her  speak  ;  I  shall  meet  her  eyes  ;  I  shall  read 
upon  her  cheek  the  sweet  thoughts  that  translate  them- 
selves into  blushes.  Then,  then,  oh,  then  she  may 
forget  that  I  am  the  peasant's  son  ! 

WIDOW. 
Nay,  if  she  will  but  hear  thee  talk,  Claude  ! 

MELNOTTE. 

I  foresee  it  all.  She  will  tell  me  that  desert  is  the 
true  rank.  She  will  give  me  a  badge,  a  flower,  a  glove ! 
Oh  rapture  !  I  shall  join  the  armies  of  the  republic  ;  I 
shall  rise  ;  I  shall  win  a  name  that  beauty  will  not 
blush  to  hear.  I  shall  return  with  the  right  to  say  to 
her,  "  See  how  love  does  not  level  the  proud,  but 
raise  the  humble  J"  Oh,  how  my  heart  swells  within 
me !  Oh,  what  glorious  prophets  of  the  future  are 
youth  and  hope  !  (Knock  at  the  door.) 

WIDOW. 

Come  in. 

(Enter  Gaspar.) . 

MELNOTTE. 

Welcome,  Gaspar,  welcome.  Where  is* the  letter? 
Why  do  you  turn  away,  man  ?  where  is  the  letter  ? 

(Gaspar  gives  him  one.) 

This  !  This  is  mine,  the  one  I  intrusted  to  thee. 
Didst  thou  not  leave  it  t 

C2 


30  THE    LADY    OF    LYONS  ;  [ACT   I. 

CASPAR. 

Yes,  I  left  it. 

MELNOTTE. 

My  own  verses  returned  to  me.     Nothing  else  ? 
GASPAK. 

Thou  wilt  be  proud  to  hear  how  thy  messenger  was 
honoured.  For  thy  sake,  Melnotte,  I  have  borne  that 
which  no  Frenchman  can  bear  without  disgrace. 

MELNOTTE. 

Disgrace,  Caspar !    Disgrace  t 
CASPAR. 

I  gave  thy  letter  to  the  porter,  who  passed  it  from 
lackey  to  lackey  till  it  reached  the  lady  it  was  meant 
for. 

MELNOTTE. 

It  reached  her,  then ;  you  are  sure  of  that  ?  It 
reached  her ;  well,  well ! 

CASPAR. 

It  reached  her,  and  was  returned  to  me  with  blows. 
Dost  hear,  Melnotte  ?  with  blows !  Death  !  are  we 
slaves  still,  that  we  are  to  be  thus  dealt  with,  we  peas- 
ants? 

MELNOTTE. 

With  blows  ?     No,  Caspar,  no  ;  not  blows ! 


I  could  show  thee  the  marks  if  it  were  not  so  deep 
a  shame  to  bear  them.  The  lackey  who  tossed  thy 
letter  into  the  mire  swore  that  his  lady  and  her  mother 
never  were  so  insulted.  What  could  thy  letter  contain, 
Claude  ? 


SCENE    III.]         OR,   LOVE    AND   PRIDE.  31 

MELNOTTE  (looking  over  the  letter}. 

Not  a  line  that  a  serf  might  not  have  written  to  an 
empress.  No,  not  one. 

GASFAR. 

They  promise  thee  the  same  greeting  they  gave  me 
if  thou  wilt  pass  that  way.  Shall  we  endure  this, 
Claude  ? 

MELNOTTE  (wringing  Gaspares  hand). 

Forgive  me,  the  fault  was  mine ;  I  have  brought  this 
on  thee  ;  I  will  not  forget  it ;  thou  shall  be  avenged  ! 
The  heartless  insolence  ! 

CASPAR. 

Thou  art  moved,  Melnotte ;  think  not  of  me ;  I 
would  go  through  fire  and  water  to  serve  thee ;  but,  a 
blow !  It  is  not  the  bruise  that  galls,  it  is  the  blush, 
Melnotte. 

MELNOTTE. 

Say,  what  message  ?  How  insulted  ?  Wherefore  ? 
What  the  offence  ? 

CASPAR. 

Did  you  not  write  to  Pauline  Deschappelles,  the 
daughter  of  the  rich  merchant  ? 

MELNOTTE. 

Well? 

CASPAR 

And  are  you  not  a  peasant,  a  gardener's  son  ?  that 
was  the  offence.  Sleep  on  it,  Melnotte.  Blows  to  a 
French  citizen,  blows  !  [Exit, 

WIDOW. 
Now  you  are  cured,  Claude  ! 


32  THE    LADY    OF   LYONS  ;  [ACT   I. 

MELNOTTE  (tearing  the  letter'). 

So  do  I  scatter  her  image  to  the  winds  ;  I  will  stop 
her  in  the  open  streets  ;  I  will  insult  her  ;  I  will  beat 
her  menial  ruffians  ;  I  will — 

(Turns  suddenly  to  the  widow.) 
Mother,  am  I  humpbacked,  deformed,  hideous  ? 

WIDOW. 
You! 

MELNOTTE. 

A  coward,  a  thief,  a  liar  ? 

WIDOW. 

You! 

MELNOTTE. 

Or  a  dull  fool ;  a  vain,  drivelling,  brainless  idiot  ? 

WIDOW. 
No,  no. 

MELNOTTE. 

What  am  I  then ;  worse  than  all  these  ?  Why,  I 
am  a  peasant !  What  has  a  peasant  to  do  with  love  1 
Vain  revolutions,  why  lavish  your  cruelty  on  the  great  ? 
Oh  that  we,  we,  the  hewers  of  wood  and  drawers  of 
water,  had  been  swept  away,  so  that  the  proud  might 
learn  what  the  world  would  be  without  us  ? 

(Knock  at  the  door.) 

(Enter  servant  from  the  inn.) 

SERVANT. 

A  letter  for  Citizen  Melnotte. 

MELNOTTE. 

A  letter !  from  her  perhaps ;  who  sent  thee  ? 


SCENE    III.]         OB,    LOVE    AND   PRIDE.  33 


SERVANT. 

Why,  Monsieur — I  mean  Citizen  Beauseant,  who 
stops  to  dine  at  the  Golden  Lion  on  his  way  to  his 
chateau. 

MELNOTTE. 

Beauseant !  (reads.) 

"  Young  man,  I  know  thy  secret ;  thou  lovest  above 
thy  station :  if  thou  hast  wit,  courage,  and  discretion, 
I  can  secure  to  thee  the  realization  of  thy  most  san- 
guine hopes  ;  and  the  sole  condition  I  ask  in  return  is, 
that  thou  shall  be  steadfast  to  thine  own  ends.  I  shall 
demand  from  thee  a  solemn  oath  to  marry  her  whom 
thou  lovest ;  to  bear  her  to  thine  home  on  thy  wedding 
night.  I  am  serious ;  if  thou  wouldst  learn  more, 
lose  not  a  moment,  but  follow  the  bearer  of  this  letter 
to  thy  friend  and  patron, 

"  CHARLES  BEAUSEANT." 

MELNOTTE. 

Can  I  believe  my  eyes  ?  Are  our  own  passions  the 
sorcerers  that  raise  up  for  us  spirits  of  good  or  evil  ? 
I  will  go  instantly. 

WIDOW. 
What  is  this,  Claude ! 

MELNOTTE. 

"  Many  her  whom  thou  lovest ;"  "  bear  her  to  thine 
own  home ;"  oh,  revenge  and  love !  which  of  you  is 
the  strongest?  (Gazing  on  the  picture)  Sweet  face, 
thou  smilest  on  me  from  the  canvass  :  weak  fool  that 
I  am,  do  I  then  love  her  still?  No,  it  is  the  vision  of 
my  own  romance  that  I  have  worshipped  ;  it  is  the 
reality,  to  which  I  bring  scorn  for  scorn.  Adieu,  moth- 
er ;  I  will  return  anon.  My  brain  reels ;  the  earth 
swims  before  me.  (Looks  again  at  the  letter)  No,  it  is 
not  a  mockery ;  I  do  not  dream !  [Exit. 


• 

.»  * 

34  THE  LADY  OF  LYONS  ;       [ACT  II. 

v        ..;.;/ 

ACT  II. 

SCENE    I. 

The  gardens  of  M.  Deschappelles's  house  at  Lyons; 
the  house  seen  at  the  back  of  the  stage. 

(Enter  Beauseant  and  Glavis.) 

BEAUSEANT. 

Well,  what  think  you  of  my  plot  ?  Has  it  not  suc- 
ceeded to  a  miracle  ?  The  instant  that  I  introduced 
his  highness  the  Prince  of  Como  to  the  pompous 
mother  and  the  scornful  daughter,  it  was  all  over  with 
them :  he  came,  he  saw,  he  conquered ;  and,  though 
it  is  not  many  days  since  he  arrived,  they  have  already 
promised  him  the  hand  of  Pauline. 

GLAVIS. 

It  is  lucky,  though,  that  you  told  them  his  highness 
travelled  incognito,  for  fear  the  directory  (who  are  not 
very  fond  of  princes)  should  lay  him  by  the  heels  ;  for 
he  has  a  wonderful  wish  to  keep  up  his  rank,  and  scat- 
ters our  gold  about  with  as  much  coolness  as  if  he 
were  watering  his  own  flower-pots. 

BEATJSEANT. 

True,  he  is  damnably  extravagant ;  I  think  the  sly 
dog  does  it  out  of  malice.  However,  it  must  be  owned 
that  he  reflects  credit  on  his  loyal  subjects,  and  makes 
a  very  pretty  figure  in  his  fine  clothes,  with  my  dia- 
mond snuffbox — 

•    , 

GLAVIS. 

And  my  diamond  ring  !    But  do  you  think  he  will 


SCENE  I.]     OR,  LOVE  AND  PRIDE.  36 

be  firm  to  the  last  ?  I  fancy  I  see  symptoms  of  relent- 
ing ;  he  will  never  keep  up  his  rank  if  he  once  let  out 
his  conscience. 

BEAUSEANT. 

His  oath  binds  him ;  he  cannot  retract  without  be- 
ing forsworn,  and  those  low  fellows  are  always  super- 
stitious !  But,  as  it  is,  I  tremble  lest  he  be  discovered ; 
that  bluff  Colonel  Damas  (Madam  Deschappelles's 
cousin)  evidently  suspects  him ;  we  must  make  haste 
and  conclude  the  farce ;  I  have  thought  of  a  plan  to 
end  it  this  very  day. 

GLAVIS. 

This  very  day !  Poor  Pauline  !  her  dream  will  be 
soon  over. 

BEAUSEANT. 

Yes,  this  day  they  shall  be  married  ;  this  evening, 
according  to  his  oath,  he  shall  carry  his  bride  to  the 
Golden  Lion,  and  then  pomp,  equipage,  retinue,  and 
title,  all  shall  vanish  at  once  ;  and  her  highness  the 
princess  shall  find  that  she  has  refused  the  son  of  a 
marquis  to  marry  the  son  of  a  gardener.  Oh,  Pauline ! 
once  loved,  now  hated,  yet  still  not  relinquished,  thou 
shalt  drain  the  cup  to  the  dregs,  thou  shall  know  what 
it  is  to  be  humbled ! 

(Enter,  from  the  house,  Melnotte  as  the  Prince  of  Como, 
leading  in  Pauline ;  Madame  Deschappelles  fanning 
herself;  and  Colonel  Damas.) 

(Beauseant  and  Glavis  bow  respectfully.     Pauline 
and  Melnotte  walk  apart.) 

MADAME    DESCHAP. 

Good-morning,  gentlemen  ;  really,  1  am  so  fatigued 
with  laughter ;  the  dear  prince  is  so  entertaining. 
What  wit  he  has  !  Any  one  may  see  that  he  has  spent 
his  whole  life  in  courts. 


36  THE   LADY    OF   LYONS  ;  [ACT   II. 


DAMAS. 

And  what  the  deuse  do  you  know  about  courts, 
Cousin  Deschappelles  ?  You  women  regard  men  just 
as  you  buy  books ;  you  never  care  what  is  in  them, 
but  how  they  are  bound  and  lettered.  'Sdeath,  I  don't 
think  you  would  even  look  at  your  Bible  if  it  had  not 
a  title  to  it. 

MADAME    DESCHAP. 

How  coarse  you  are,  Cousin  Damas !  quite  the 
manners  of  a  barrack ;  you  don't  deserve  to  be  one  of 
our  family ;  really,  we  must  drop  your  acquaintance 
when  Pauline  marries.  I  cannot  patronise  any  rela- 
tions that  would  discredit  my  future  son-in-law  the 
Prince  of  Como. 

MELNOTTE  (advancing). 

These  are  beautiful  gardens,  madame  (Beauseant 
and  Glavis  retire) ;  who  planned  them  ? 

MADAME    DESCHAP. 

A  gardener  named  Melnotte,  your  highness;  an 
honest  man  who  knew  his  station.  I  can't  say  as 
much  for  his  son,  a  presuming  fellow,  who — ha!  ha! — 
actually  wrote  verses — such  doggerel ! — to  my  daugh- 
ter. 

PAULINE. 

Yes,  how  you  would  have  laughed  at  them,  prince ! 
you  who  write  such  beautiful  verses  ! 

MELNOTTE. 

This  Melnotte  must  be  a  monstrous  impudent  per- 
son! 

DAMAS. 
Is  he  good-looking  ? 


SCENE  I.]     OR,  LOVE  AND  PRIDE.  37 


MADAME  DESCHAP. 


I  never  notice  such  canaille ;  an  ungly,  mean-look- 
ing clown,  if  I  remember  right. 

DAM  A3. 

Yet  I  heard  your  porter  say  he  was  wonderfully  like 
his  highness. 

MELNOTTE  (taking  snuff). 
You  are  complimentary. 

MADAME    DESCHAP. 

For  shame,  Cousin  Damas  !  like  the  prince,  indeed ! 

PAULINE. 

Like  you !  Ah,  mother,  like  our  beautiful  prince  ! 
I'll  never  speak  to  you  again,  Cousin  Damas. 

MELNOTTE  (aside). 

Humph !  rank  is  a  great  beautifier !  I  never  passed 
for  an  Apollo  while  I  was  a  peasant ;  if  I  am  so  hand- 
some as  a  prince,  what  should  I  be  as  an  emperor  ? 
(Aloud)  Monsieur  Beauseant,  will  you  honour  me  ? 
(offers  snuff.) 

BEAUSEANT. 

No,  your  highness  ;  I  have  no  small  vices. 

MELNOTTE.      . 

Nay,  if  it  were  a  vice  you'd  be  sure  to  have  it,  Mon- 
sieur Beauseant. 

MADAME    DESCHAP. 

Ha !  ha !  how  very  severe  !  what  wit ! 

BEAUSEANT  (in  a  rage  and  aside). 

Curse  his  impertinence ! 
D 


38  THE    LADY   OF  LYONS;  [ACT  II. 

MADAME    DESCHAP. 

What  a  superb  snuffbox ! 

PAULINE. 

And  what  a  beautiful  ring  ! 

MELNOTTE. 

You  like  the  box ;  a  trifle  ;  interesting,  perhaps, 
from  associations  ;  a  present  from  Louis  XIV.  to  my 
great-great-grandmother.  Honour  me  by  accepting  it. 

BEAUSEANT  (plucking  him  by  the  sleeve). 

How  !  what  the  devil !  My  box  !  are  you  mad  ? 
It  is  worth  five  hundred  louis. 

MELNOTTE  (unheeding  him,  and  turning  to  Pauline). 

And  you  like  this  ring?  Ah,  it  has,  indeed,  a  lustre 
since  your  eyes  have  shone  on  it  (placing  it  on  her 
finger).  Henceforth  hold  me,  sweet  enchantress,  the 
Slave  of  the  Ring. 

GLAVIS  (pulling  him). 

Stay,  stay  ;  what  are  you  about  ?  My  maiden  aunt's 
legacy ;  a  diamond  of  the  first  water.  You  shall  be 
hanged  for  swindling,  sir. 

MELNOTTE  (pretending  not  to  hear). 

It  is  curious,  this  ring !  it  is  the  one  with  which  my 

grandfather,  the  Doge  of  Venice,  married  the  Adriatic  ! 

(Madame  and  Pauline  examine  the  ring.) 

MELNOTTE  (to  Beauseant  and  Glavis). 

Fy,  gentlemen,  princes  must  be  generous  !  (Turns 
to  Damas,  who  watches  them  closely)  These  kind  friends 
have  my  interest  so  much  at  heart  that  they  are  as 
careful  of  my  property  as  if  it  were  their  own  ! 


SCENE  I.]  OR,   LOVE    AND   PRIDE.  39 

BEATISEANT   AND    GLAVIS    (confusedly). 

Ha  !  ha  !  very  good  joke  that ! 

(Appear  to  remonstrate   with   Melnotte   in   dumb 
show.) 

DAMAS. 

What's  all  that  whispering  ?  I  am  sure  there  is 
some  juggle  here  ;  hang  me  if  I  think  he  is  an  Italian, 
after  all.  Gad!  I'll  try  him.  Servitore  umilissimo, 
eccellenza.* 

MELNOTTE. 

Hum  ;  what  does  he  mean,  I  wonder  ? 

DAMAS. 
Godo  di  vedervi  in  buona  salute.f 

MELNOTTE. 

Hem,  hem ! 

DAMA3. 

Fa  bel  tempo— che  si  dice  di  nuovo  ?J 

1 MELNOTTE. 

Well,  sir,  what's  all  that  gibberish  ? 
DAMAS. 

Oh,  oh !  only  Italian,  your  highness  !  The  Prince 
of  Como  does  not  understand  his  own  language  ! 

MELNOTTE. 

Not  as  you  pronounce  it ;  who  the  deuse  could  ? 

MADAME    DESCHAP. 

Ha !  ha !  Cousin  Damas,  never  pretend  to  what  you 
don't  know. 

*  Your  excellency's  most  humble  servant. 
t  I  am  glad  to  see  you  in  good  health, 
j  Fine  weather  !     What  news  is  there  ? 


40  THE    LADY   OF   LYONS  ;  [ACT   II. 

PAULINE. 

Ha !  ha  !  Cousin  Damas  ;  you  speak  Italian,  indeed  ! 
(Makes  a  mocking  gesture  at  him.) 

BEAUSEANT    (to  Glavis). 

Clever  dog !  how  ready ! 

GLAVIS. 

Ready,  yes ;  with  my  diamond  ring  !•  Damn  his 
readiness ! 

DAMAS. 

Laugh  at  me  !  laugh  at  a  colonel  in  the  French  ar- 
my !  The  fellow's  an  impostor  ;  I  know  he  is.  I'll 
see  if  he  understands  fighting  as  well  as  he  does  Ital- 
ian. (Goes  up  to  him,  and  aside)  Sir,  you  are  a  jack- 
anapes !  Can  you  construe  that  ? 

MELNOTTE. 

No,  sir ;  I  never  construe  affronts  in  the  presence 
of  ladies ;  by-and-by  I  shall  be  happy  to  take  a  les- 
son, or  give  one. 

DAMAS. 
I'll  find  the  occasion,  never  fear ! 

MADAME    DBS  CHAP. 

Where  are  you  going,  cousin? 

DAMAS. 

To  correct  my  Italian.  [Exit. 

BEAUSEANT    (t-0  Glavis). 

Let  us  after,  and  pacify  him ;  he  evidently  suspects 
something. 

OLA  vis. 

• 

Yes  !  but  my  diamond  ring ! 


SCENE   I.]  OR,  LOVE   AND   PRIDE.  41 


BEAUSEANT. 


And  my  box  !     We  are  overtaxed,  fellow-subject ! 
we  must  stop  the  supplies,  and  dethrone  the  prince ! 


GLAVIS. 


Prince  !  he  ought  to  be  heir-apparent  to  King  Stork ! 

[Exeunt. 


MADAME    DESCHAP. 


Dare  I  ask  your  highness  to  forgive  my  cousin's  in- 
sufferable vulgarity  ? 


PAULINE. 


Oh,  yes  !  you  will  forgive  his  manner  for  the  sake 
of  his  heart. 


MELNOTTE. 


And  the  sake  of  his  cousin.  Ah,  madame,  there  is 
one  comfort  in  rank :  we  are  so  sure  of  our  position 
that  we  are  not  easily  affronted.  Besides,  M.  Damas 
has  bought  the  right  of  indulgence  from  his  friends  by 
never  showing  it  to  his  enemies. 

PAULINE. 

Ah !  he  is,  indeed,  as  brave  in  action  as  he  is  rude 
in  speech.  H  rose  from  the  ranks  to  his  present 
grade,  and  in  two  years  ! 

MELNOTTE. 

In  two  years !  two  years,  did  you  say  ? 

MADAME    DESCHAP.    (aside). 

I  don't  like  leaving  girls  alone  with  their  lovers  ; 
but,  with  a  prince,  it  would  be  so  ill-bred  to  be  prudish. 

[Exit. 

MELNOTTE. 

You  can  be  proud  of  your  connexion  with  one  who 
owes  his  position  to  merit,  not  birth. 
D2 


42  THE    LADY   OF   LYONS;  [ACT   II 

PAULINE. 

Why,  yes  ;  but  still — 

MELNOTTE. 

Still  what,  Pauline  ? 

PAULINE. 

There  is  something  glorious  in  the  heritage  of  com- 
mand. A  man  who  has  ancestors  is  like  a  representa- 
tive of  the  past. 

MELNOTTE. 

True ;  but,  like  other  representatives,  nine  times 
out  often  he  is  a  silent  member.  Ah,  Pauline  !  not  to 
the  past,  but  to  the  future,  looks  true  nobility,  and  finds 
its  blazon  in  posterity. 

PAULINE. 

You  say  this  to  please  me,  who  have  no  ancestors  ; 
but  you,  prince,  must  be  proud  of  so  illustrious  a  race  ! 

MELNOTTE. 

No,  no !  I  would  not,  were  I  fifty  times  a  prince,  be 
a  pensioner  on  the  dead  !  I  honour  birth  and  ancestry 
when  they  are  regarded  as  the  incentives  to  exertion, 
not  the  title-deeds  to  sloth !  I  honour  the  laurels  that 
overshadow  the  graves  of  our  fathers ;  it  is  our  fathers 
I  emulate  when  I  desire  that  beneath  the  evergreen  I 
myself  have  planted  my  own  ashes  may  repose ! 
Dearest !  couldst  thou  but  see  with  my  eyes  ! 

PAULINE. 

I  cannot  forego  pride  when  I  look  on  thee,  and 
think  that  thou  lovest  me.  Sweet  prince,  tell  me  again 
of  thy  palace  by  the  Lake  of  Como ;  it  is  so  pleasant 
to  hear  of  thy  splendours  since  thou  didst  swear  to  me 
that  they  would  be  desolate  without  Pauline ;  and 
when  thou  describest  them,  it  is  with  a  mocking  lip 


SCENE   I.]  OR,   LOVE    AND   PRIDE.  43 

and  a  noble  scorn,  as  if  custom  had  made  thee  disdain 
greatness. 

MELNOTTE. 

Nay,  dearest,  nay,  if  thou  wouldst  have  me  paint 
The  home  to  which,  could  love  fulfil  its  prayers, 
This  hand  would  lead  thee,  listen  !*  a  deep  vale 
Shut  out  by  Alpine  hills  from  the  rude  world ; 
Near  a  clear  lake,  margined  by  fruits  of  gold 
And  whispering  myrtles  ;  glassing  softest  skies 
As  cloudless,  save  with  rare  and  roseate  shadows, 
As  I  would  have  thy  fate  ! 

PAULINE. 
My  own  dear  love ! 

MELNOTTE. 

A  palace  lifting  to  eternal  summer 

Its  marble  walls,  from  out  a  glossy  bower 

Of  coolest  foliage  musical  with  birds, 

Whose  songs  should  syllable  thy  name !     At  noon 

We'd  sit  beneath  the  arching  vines,  and  wonder 

Why  earth  could  be  unhappy,  while  the  heavens 

Still  left  us  youth  and  love  !     We'd  have  no  friends 

That  were  not  lovers ;  no  ambition,  save 

To  excel  them  all  in  love !     We'd  read  no  books 

That  were  not  tales  of  love,  that  we  might  smile 

To  think  how  poorly  eloquence  of  words 

Translates  the  poetry  of  hearts  like  ours ! 

And  when  night  came,  amid  the  breathless  heavens 

We'd  guess  what  star  should  be  our  home  when  love 

*  The  reader  will  observe  that  Melnotte  evades  the  request  of 
Pauline.  He  proceeds  to  describe  a  home,  which  he  does  not  say 
he  possesses,  but  to  which  he  would  lead  her,  "  could  love  fulfil  its 
prayers."  This  caution  is  intended  as  a  reply  to  a  sagacious  critic 
who  censures  the  description,  because  it  is  not  an  exact  and  prosaic 
inventory  of  the  characteristics  of  the  Lake  of  Como !  When  Mel- 
notte,  for  instance,  talks  of  birds  "  that  syllable  the  name  of  Pauline" 
(by-the-way,  a  literal  translation  from  an  Italian  poet),  he  is  not 
thinking  of  ornithology,  but  probably  of  the  Arabian  Nights.  He  is 
venting  the  extravagant,  but  natural  enthusiasm,  of  the  poet  and  the 
lover. 


44  THE    LADY   OF   LYONS J  [ACT.  II. 

Becomes  immortal ;  while  the  perfumed  light 

Stole  through  the  mists  of  alabaster  lamps, 

And  every  air  was  heavy  with  the  sighs 

Of  orange  groves,  and  music  from  sweet  lutes, 

And  murmurs  of  low  fountains  that  gush  forth 

I'  the  midst  of  roses !     Dost  thou  like  the  picture  ? 

PAULINE. 

Oh !  as  the  bee  upon  the  flower,  I  hang 
Upon  the  honey  of  thy  eloquent  tongue  ! 
Am  I  not  bless'd  ?     Ana  if  I  love  too  wildly, 
Who  would  not  love  thee  like  Pauline  ? 

MELNOTTE  (bitterly). 

Oh,  false  one ! 

It  is  the  prince  thou  lovest,  not  the  man ; 
If  in  the  stead  of  luxury,  pomp,  and  power, 
I  had  painted  poverty,  and  toil,  and  care, 
Thou  hadst  found  no  honey  on  my  tongue ;  Pauline, 
That  is  not  love ! 

PAULINE. 

Thou  wrongst  me,  cruel  prince ! 
'Tis  true,  I  might  not  at  the  first  been  won, 
Save  through  the  weakness  of  a  flattered  pride ; 
But  now — oh !  trust  me — couldst  thou  fall  from  power, 
And  sink — 

MELNOTTE. 

As  low  as  that  poor  gardener's  son 
Who  dared  to  lift  his  eyes  to  thee. 

PAULINE. 

Even  then 

Methinks  thou  wouldst  be  only  made  more  dear 
By  the  sweet  thought  that  I  could  prove  how  deep 
Is  woman's  love !     We  are  like  the  insects,  caught 
By  the  poor  glittering  of  a  garish  flame  ; 
But,  oh,  the  wings  once  scorched,  the  brightest  star 


SCENE  I.]  OR,   LOVE  AND   PRIDE.  45 

Lures  us  no  more  ;  and  by  the  fatal  light 
We  cling  till  death ! 

MELNOTTE. 

Angel ! 

(Aside)  Oh  conscience  !  conscience  ! 
It  must  not  be ;  her  love*  hath  grown  a  torture 
Worse  than  her  hate.     I  will  at  once  to  Beauseant, 
And — ha !  he  comes.     Sweet  love,  one  moment  leave 

me. 

I  have  business  with  these  gentlemen ;  I — I 
Will  forthwith  join  you. 

PAULINE. 
Do  not  tarry  long !         [Exit. 

(Enter  Beauseant  and  Glavis.) 

MELNOTTK. 

Release  me  from  my  oath ;  I  will  not  marry  her ! 

BEAUSEANT. 

Then  thou  art  perjured. 

MELNOTTE. 

No,  I  was  not  in  my  senses  when  I  swore  to  thee 
to  marry  her  !  I  was  blind  to  all  but  her  scorn  !  deaf 
to  all  but  my  passion  and  my  rage !  Give  me  back 
my  poverty  and  my  honour ! 

BEAUSEANT. 

It  is  too  late ;  you  must  marry  her !  and  this  day. 
I  have  a  story  already  coined,  and  sure  to  pass  cur- 
rent. This  Damas  suspects  thee ;  he  will  set  the 
police  to  work ;  thou  wilt  be  detected ;  Pauline  will 
despise  and  execrate  thee.  Thou  wilt  be  sent  to  the 
common  jail  as  a  swindler. 

MELNOTTE. 

Fiend ! 


46  THE    LADY   OF   LYONS;  [ACT   II. 


BEAUSEANT. 


And  in  the  heat  of  the  girl's  resentment  (you  know 
of  what  resentment  is  capable)  and  the  parent's  shame 
she  will  be  induced  to  marry  the  first  that  offers,  even 
perhaps  your  humble  servant. 


MELNOTTE. 


You !  No ;  that  were  worse ;  for  thou  hast  no 
mercy!  I  will  marry  her;  I  will  keep  my  oath. 
Quick,  then,  with  the  damnable  invention  thou  art 
hatching ;  quick,  if  thou  wouldst  not  have  me  strangle 
thee  or  myself. 


GLAVIS. 


What  a  tiger !     Too  fierce  for  a  prince  ;  he  ought 
to  have  been  the  Grand  Turk. 


BEATISEANT. 


Enough,  I  will  despatch  ;  be  prepared. 

[Exeunt  Beauseant  and  Glavis. 

(Enter  Damas  with  two  swords.) 


Now,  then,  sir,  the  ladies  are  no  longer  your  ex- 
cuse. I  have  brought  you  a  couple  of  dictionaries  ; 
let  us  see  if  your  highness  can  find  out  the  Latin  for 
bilbo. 

MELNOTTE. 

Away,  sir !     I  am  in  no  humour  for  jesting. 

DAMAS. 

I  see  you  understand  something  of  the  grammar ; 
you  decline  the  noun  substantive  "  small  sword"  with 
great  ease  ;  but  that  won't  do ;  you  must  take  a  lesson 
in  parsing. 


SCENE    I.]  OR,    LOVE    AND   PRIDE.  47 


MELNOTTE. 

Fool! 

DAM  AS. 

Sir,  a  man  who  calls  me  a  fool  insults  the  lady  who 
bore  me  ;  there's  no  escape  for  you  ;  fight  you  shall, 
or — 

MELNOTTE. 

Oh,  enough  !  enough  !  take  your  ground. 

(They  fight;  Damas  is  disarmed.  Melnotte  takes 
up  the  sword  and  returns  it  to  Damas  respect- 
fully.) 

A  just  punishment  to  the  brave  soldier  who  robs  the 
state  of  its  best  property,  the  sole  right  to  his  valour 
and  his  life. 

DAMAS. 

Sir,  you  fence  exceedingly  well ;  you  must  be  a  man 
of  honour,  I  don't  care  a  jot  whether  you  are  a  prince  ; 
but  a  man  who  has  carte  and  tierce  at  his  fingers'  ends 
must  be  a  gentleman. 

MELNOTTE  (aside). 

Gentleman !  Ay,  I  was  a  gentleman  before  I  turned 
conspirator ;  for  honest  men  are  the  gentlemen  of  Na- 
ture !  Colonel,  they  tell  me  you  rose  from  the  ranks. 

DAMAS. 

I  did. 

MELNOTTE. 

'       •  **l    • 

And  in  two  years  ? 

DAMAS. 

It  is  true ;  that's  no  wonder  in  our  army  at  present. 
Why,  the  oldest  general  in  the  service  is  scarcely  thirty, 
and  we  have  some  of  two-and-twenty. 


48  THE   LADY    OF   LYONS;  [ACT   II. 


MELNOTTE. 

Two-and-twenty ! 

DAM  AS. 

Yes ;  in  the  French  army  nowadays  promotion  is 
not  a  matter  of  purchase.     We  are  all  heroes  because 
we  may  be  all  generals.     We  have  no  fear  of  the  cy- 
.  press  because  we  may  all  hope  for  the  laurel. 

MELNOTTE. 

A  general  at  two-and-twenty  (turning  away).  Sir,  I 
may  ask  you  a  favour  one  of  these  days. 

DAMAS. 

Sir,  I  shall  be  proud  to  grant  it.  It  is  astonishing 
how  much  I  like  a  man  after  I've  fought  with  him. 

(Hides  the  swords.) 

(Enter  madame  and  Beauseant.) 

'  '  t  MADAME   DESCHAP. 

Oh,  prince  !  prince  !  What  do  I  hear  ?  You  must 
fly,  you  must  leave  us ! 

MELNOTTE. 

I! 

BEAUSEANT. 

Yes,  prince  ;  read  this  letter,  just  received  from  my 
friend  at  Paris,  one  of  the  directory  ;  they  suspect  you 
of  designs  against  the  republic  ;  they  are  very  suspi- 
cious of  princes,  and  your  family  takes  part  with  the 
Austrians.  Knowing  that  I  introduced  your  highness 
at  Lyons,  my  friend  writes  to  me  to  say  that  you  must 
leave  the  town  immediately,  or  you  will  be  arrested, 
thrown  into  prison,  perhaps  guillotined  !  Fly !  I  will 
order  horses  to  your  carriage  instantly.  Fly  to  Mar- 
seilles ;  there  you  can  take  ship  to  Leghorn. 


SCENE  I.]      OR,  LOVE  AND  PRIDE.  *         49 
MADAME  DESCHAP. 

And  what's  to  become  of  Pauline  ?    Am  I  not  to  be 
mother  to  a  princess,  after  all  ? 

(Enter  Pauline  and  M.  Deschappelles.) 
PAULINE  (throwing  herself  into  Melnotte's  arms). 
You  must  leave  us  !     Leave  Pauline ! 

BEAUSEANT. 

Not  a  moment  is  to  be  wasted. 

MONS.    DESCHAP. 

I  will  go  to  the  magistrates  and  inquire — 

BEAUSEANT. 

Then  he  is  lost ;  the  magistrates,  hearing  he  is  sus- 
pected, will  order  his  arrest. 

MADAME    DESCHAP. 

And  I  shall  not  be  princess  dowager ! 

BEAUSEANT. 

Why  not  ?     There  is  only  one  thing  to  be  done : 
send  for  the  priest ;  let  the  marriage  take  place  at  once,, 
and  the  prince  carry  home  a  bride  ! 

MELN0TTE. 

Impossible  !     (Aside)  Villain !     I  know  not  what  I 
say. 

MADAME    DESCHAP. 

What,  lose  my  child  ? 

BEAUSEANT. 

And  gain  a  princess  ! 

MADAME    DESCHAP. 

Oh,  Monsieur  Beauseant,  you  are  so  very  kind  ;  it 
E 


50  THE  LADY  OF  LYONS  J       [ACT  II. 

must  be  so  ;  we  ought  not  to  be  selfish ;  my  daughter's 
happiness  is  at  stake.  She  will  go  away,  too,  in  a 
carriage  and  six  ! 


PAULINE. 


Thou  art  here  still ;  I  cannot  part  from  thee ;  my 
heart  will  break. 


MELNOTTE. 


But  thou  wilt  not  consent  to  this  hasty  union  ;  thou 
wilt  not  wed  an  outcast,  a  fugitive  ! 

PAULINE. 

Ah !  if  thou  art  in  danger,  who  should  share  it  but 
Pauline  ? 

MELNOTTE  (aside). 
Distraction !     If  the  earth  could  swallow  me ! 

MONS.    DESCHAP. 

Gently  !  gently !  The  settlements,  the  contracts, 
my  daughter's  dowry ! 

MELNOTTE. 

The  dowry !  1  am  not  base  enough  for  that ;  no, 
not  one  farthing ! 

BEAUSEANT  (to  madame). 

Noble  fellow !  Really,  your  good  husband  is  too 
mercantile  in  these  matters.  Monsieur  Deschappelles, 
you  hear  his  highness  ;  we  can  arrange  the  settlements 
by  proxy  ;  'tis  the  way  with  people  of  quality. 

MONS.    DESCHAP. 

But— 

MADAME    DESCHAP. 

Hold  your  tongue !     Don't  expose  yourself! 


SCENE    I.]  OR,   LOVE    AND   PRIDE.  51 


BEAtJSEANT. 

I  will  bring  the  priest  in  a  trice.  Go  in  all  of  you 
and  prepare ;  the  carriage  shall  be  at  the  door  before 
the  ceremony  is  over. 

MADAME    DESCHAP. 

Be  sure  there  are  six  horses,  Beauseant !  You  are 
very  good  to  have  forgiven  us  for  refusing  you ;  but, 
you  see,  a  prince 

BEATJSEANT. 

And  such  a  prince !  Madame,  I  cannot  blush  at  the 
success  of  so  illustrious  a  rival.  (Aside)  Now  will  I 
follow  them  to  the  village,  enjoy  my  triumph ;  and  to- 
morrow, in  the  hour  of  thy  shame  and  grief,  I  think, 
proud  girl,  thou  wilt  prefer  even  these  arms  to  those  of 
the  gardener's  son.  [Exit  Beauseant. 

MADAME    DESCHAP. 

Come,  Monsieur  Deschappelles,  give  your  arm  to 
her  highness  that  is  to  be. 

MONS.    DESCHAP. 

I  don't  like  doing  business  in  such  a  hurry  ;  'tis  not 
the  way  with  the  house  of  Deschappelles  and  Co. 

MADAME    DESCHAP. 

There,  now,  you  fancy  you  are  in  the  counting-house ; 
don't  you  1  (pushes  him  to  Pauline), 

MELNOTTE. 

Stay,  stay,  Pauline ;  one  word.  Have  you  no  scru- 
ple, no  fear  ?  Speak ;  it  is  not  yet  too  late. 

PAULINE. 

When  I  loved  thee,  thy  fate  became  mine.  Triumph 
or  danger,  joy  or  sorrow,  I  am  by  thy  side. 


52  THE  LADY  OF  LYONS;     [ACT  III. 


DAMAS. 

Well,  well,  prince,  thou  art  a  lucky  man  to  be  so 
loved.  She  is  a  good  little  girl  in  spite  of  her  foibles ; 
make  her  as  happy  as  if  she  were  not  to  be  a  princess 
(slapping  him  on  the  shoulder).  Come,  sir,  I  wish  you 
joy,  young,  tender,  lovely ;  zounds,  I  envy  you  ! 

MELNOTTE  (who  has  stood  apart  in  gloomy  abstrac- 
tion). 
Do  YOU  ?* 


ACT  III. 

SCENE    I. 

The  exterior  of  the  Golden  Lion ;  time,  twilight.     The 
moon  rises  during  the  scene. 

(Enter  landlord  and  his  daughter  from  the  inn.) 

LANDLORD. 

Ha !  ha !  ha !  Well,  I  never  shall  get  over  it.  Onr 
Claude  is  a  prince  with  a  vengeance  now.  His  car- 
riage breaks  down  at  my  inn ;  ha !  ha ! 

JANET. 
And  what  airs  the  young  lady  gives  herself !     "  Is 

*  On  the  stage  the  following  lines  are  added : 

Do  you  ?     Wise  judges  are  we  of  each  other. 

"  Woo,  wed,  and  bear  her  home  !"    So  runs  the  bond 

To  which  I  sold  myself;  and  then,  what  then  ? 

Away !    I  will  not  look  beyond  the  hour. 

Like  children  in  the  dark,  I  dare  not  face 

The  shades  that  gather  round  me  in  the  distance. 

You  envy  me  ;  I  thank  you  ;  you  may  read 

My  joy  upon  my  brow ;  I  thank  you,  sir ! 

If  hearts  had  audible  language,  you  would  hear 

How  mine  would  answer  when  you  talk  of  envy  f 


SCENE  I.]  OR,    LOVE    AND  PRIDE.  53 

this  the  best  room  you  have,  young  woman?"  with 
such  a  toss  of  the  head ! 


LANDLORD. 

Well,  get  in,  Janet ;  get  in  and  see  to  the  supper : 
the  servants  must  sup  before  they  go  back. 

[Exeunt  landlord  and  Janet. 

(Enter  Beauscant  and  Glavis.) 

BEAUSEANT. 

You  see  our  princess  is  lodged  at  last ;  one  stage 
more,  and  she'll  be  at  her  journey's  end,  the  beautiful 
palace  at  the  foot  of  the  Alps  !  ha !  ha ! 

GLAVIS. 

Faith,  I  pity  the  poor  Pauline,  especially  if  she's 
going  to  sup  at  the  Golden  Lion  (makes  a  wry  face}. 
I  shall  never  forget  that  cursed  ragout. 

(Enter  Melnottefrom  the  inn.) 

BEAUSEANT. 

Your  servant,  my  prince ;  you  reigned  most  worthily. 
1  condole  with  you  on  your  abdication.  I  am  afraid 
that  your  highness's  retinue  are  not  very  faithful  ser- 
vants. I  think  they  will  leave  you  in  the  moment  of 
your  fall;  'tis  the  fate  of  greatness.  But  you  are 
welcome  to  your  fine  clothes  ;  also  the  diamond  snuff- 
box  which  Louis  XIV.  gave  to  your  great-great-grand- 
mother. 

OLA  vis. 

And  the  ring  with  which  your  grandfather  the  Doge 
of  Venice  married  the  Adriatic. 

MELNOTTE. 

I  have  kept  my  oath,  gentlemen ;  say,  have  I  kept 
my  oath  ? 

E  2 


54  THE    LADY    OF    LYONS  }  [ACT  III 


BEAUSEANT. 

Most  religiously. 

MELNOTTE. 

Then  you  have  done  with  me  and  mine  ;  away  with 
you! 

BEAUSEANT. 

How,  knave  1 

MELNOTTE. 

Look  you,  our  bond  is  over.  Proud  conquerors  that 
we  are,  we  have  won  the  victory  over  a  simple  girl ; 
compromised  her  honour,  imbittered  her  life,  blasted,  in 
their  very  blossoms,  all  the  flowers  of  her  youth.  This 
is  your  triumph,  it  is  my  shame !  ( Turns  to  BEAU- 
SEANT) Enjoy  that  triumph,  but  not  in  my  sight.  I 
was  her  betrayer,  I  am  her  protector  !  Cross  but  her 
path,  one  word  of  scorn,  one  look  of  insult,  nay,  but 
one  quiver  of  that  mocking  lip,  and  I  will  teach  thee 
that  bitter  word  thou  hast  graven  eternally  in  this  heart 
— Repentance  ! 

BEAUSEANT. 

His  highness  is  most  grandiloquent. 

MELNOTTE. 

Highness  me  no  more.  Beware !  Remorse  has 
made  me  a  new  being.  Away  with  you  !  There  is 
danger  in  me.  Away  ! 

GLAVIS  (aside). 

He's  an  awkward  fellow  to  deal  with ;  come  away, 
Beauseant. 

BEAUSEANT. 

I  know  the  respect  due  to  rank.     Adieu,  my  prince. 


SCENE    I.]  OR,    LOVE    AND    PRIDE.  55 

Any  commands  at  Lyons  ?     Yet  hold  ;  I  promised  you 
200  louis  on  your  wedding-day ;  here  they  are. 

MELNOTTE  (dashing  the  purse  to  the  ground}. 

I  gave  you  revenge,  I  did  not  sell  it.  Take  up  your 
silver,  Judas  ;  take  it.  Ay,  it  is  fit  you  should  learn 
to  stoop. 

BEATJSEANT. 

You  will  beg  my  pardon  for  this  some  day.  (Aside 
to  GLAVIS)  Come  to  my  chateau ;  I  shall  return  hither 
to-morrow  to  learn  how  Pauline  likes  her  new  dignity. 

MELNOTTE. 

Are  you  not  gone  yet  ? 

BEATJSEANT. 

Your  highness's  most  obedient,  most  faithful — 
GLAVIS. 

And  most  humble  servants.     Ha !  ha ! 

[Exeunt  Beauseant  and  Glavis. 

MELNOTTE. 

Thank  Heaven,  I  had  no  weapon,  or  I  should  have 
slain  them.  Wretch  !  what  can  I  say  ?  Where  turn  ? 
On  all  sides  mockery  ;  the  very  boors  within — (Laugh- 
ter from  the  inn.)  'Sdeath,  if  even  in  this  short  absence 
the  exposure  should  have  chanced.  I  will  call  her. 
We  will  go  hence.  I  have  already  sent  one  I  can  trust 
to  my  mother's  house.  There  at  least  none  can  insult 
her  agony,  gloat  upon  her  shame  !  There  alone  must 
she  learn  what  a  villain  she  has  sworn  to  love. 

(As  he  turns  to  the  door,  enter  Pauline  from  the  inn.) 
PAULINE. 

Ah,  my  lord,  what  a  place  1  I  never  saw  such  rude 
people.  They  stare  and  wink  so.  I  think  the  very 


56  THE  LADY  OF  LYONS  ;      [ACT  III. 

sight  of  a  prince,  though  he  travels  incognito,  turns 
their  honest  heads.  What  a  pity  the  carriage  should 
break  down  in  such  a  spot !  You  are  not  well ;  the 
drops  stand  on  your  brow  ;  your  hand  is  feverish. 

MELNOTTE. 

Nay,  it  is  but  a  passing  spasm ;  the  air — 

PAULINE. 

Is  not  the  soft  air  of  your  native  south. 
PAULINE. 

How  pale  he  is  !  indeed  thou  art  not  well. 
Where  are  our  people  ?     I  will  call  them. 

MELNOTTE. 

Hold! 
I — I  am  well. 

PAULINE. 

Thou  art !    Ah !  now  I  know  it. 
Thou  fanciest,  my  kind  lord — I  know  thou  dost — 
Thou  fanciest  these  rude  walls,  these  rustic  gossips, 
Brick'd  floors,  sour  wine,  coarse  viands,  vex  Pauline  ; 
And  so  they  might,  but  thou  art  by  my  side, 
And  I  forget  all  else ! 

(Enter  landlord,  the  servants  peeping  and  laughing 
over  his  shoulder.) 

LANDLORD. 

My  lord — your  highness — 
Will  your  most  noble  excellency  choose — 

MELNOTTE. 

Begone,  sir !  [Emit  landlord,  laughing. 

PAULINE. 

How  could  they  have  learn'd  thy  rank  ? 


SCENE    I.]  OR,    LOVE 'AND   PRIDE.  57 

One's  servants  are  so  vain !  nay,  let  it  not 

Chafe  thee,  sweet  prince  !  a  few  short  days,  and  we 

Shall  see  thy  palace  by  its  lake  of  silver, 

And — nay,  nay,  Spendthrift,  is  thy  wealth  of  smiles 

Already  drained,  or  dost  thou  play  the  miser  ? 

MELNOTTE. 

Thine  eyes  would  call  up  smiles  in  deserts,  fair  one. 
Let  us  escape  these  rustics.      Close  at  hand 
There  is  a  cot,  where  I  have  bid  prepare 
Our  evening  lodgment ;  a  rude,  homely  roof, 
But  honest,  where  our  welcome  will  not  be 
Made  torture  by  the  vulgar  eyes  and  tongues 
That  are  as  death  to  love  !     A  heavenly  night ! 
The  wooing  air  and  the  soft  moon  invite  us. 
Wilt  walk  ?     I  pray  thee,  now ;  I  know  the  path, 
Ay,  every  inch  of  it ! 

PAULINE. 

What,  thou !  methought 

Thou  wert  a,  stranger  in  these  parts.     Ah  !  truant, 
Some  village  beauty  lured  thee  ;  thou  art  now 
Grown  constant. 

MELNOTTE. 

Trust  me ! 

PAULINE. 

Princes  are  so  changeful ! 

MELNOTTE. 

Come,  dearest,  come. 

PAULINE. 

Shall  I  not  call  our  people 
To  light  us  ? 

MELNOTTE. 

Heaven  will  lend  its  stars  for  torches  ! 
It  is  not  far. 


58  THE    LADY    OF    LYONS.  [ACT   III. 

PAULINE. 

The  night  breeze  chills  me. 

MELNOTTE. 

Nay, 
Let  me  thus  mantle  thee ;  it  is  not  cold. 

PAULINE. 

Never  beneath  thy  smile  ! 

MELNOTTE  (aside). 

Oh,  Heaven  1  forgive  me ! 

[Exeunt. 


SCENE    II. 

Mtlnottcs  cottage.      Widow  bustling  about.     A  table 
spread  for  supper. 

WIDOW. 

So,  I  think  that  looks  very  neat.  He  sent  me  a  line, 
so  blotted  that  I  can  scarcely  read  it,  to  say  he  would 
be  here  almost  immediately.  She  must  have  loved 
him  well,  indeed,  to  have  forgotten  his  birth ;  for, 
though  he  was  introduced  to  her  in  disguise,  he  is  too 
honourable  not  to  have  revealed  to  her  the  artifice 
which  her  love  only  could  forgive.  Well,  I  do  not 
wonder  at  it ;  for  though  my  son  is  not  a  prince,  he 
ought  to  be  one,  and  that's  almost  as  good.  (Knock  at 
the  door.)  Ah  !  here  they  are. 

(Enter  Melnotte  and  Pauline.) 

WIDOW. 

Oh,  my  boy,  the  pride  of  my  heart !  welcome,  wel- 
come !  I  beg  pardon,  ma'am,  but  I  do  love  him  so ! 


SCENE    II.]  OR,    LOVE    AND    PRIDE.  59 

PAULINE. 

Good  woman,  I  really — why,  prince,  what  is  this  ? 
does  the  old  lady  know  you  ?  Oh,  I  guess,  you  have 
done  her  some  service :  another  proof  of  your  kind 
heart,  is  it  not  ? 

MELNOTTE. 

Of  my  kind  heart,  ay  ! 

PAULINE. 

So  you  know  the  prince  ? 

WIDOW. 

Know  him,  madam  ?  ah,  I  begin  to  fear  it  is  you 
who  know  him  not ! 

PAULINE. 

Do  you  think  she  is  mad  ?  Can  we  stay  here,  my 
lord  ?  I  think  there's  something  very  wild  about  her. 

MELNOTTE. 

Madam,  I — no,  I  cannot  tell  her,  my  knees  knock 
together :  what  a  coward  is  a  man  who  has  lost  his 
honour !  Speak  to  her,  speak  to  her  (to  his  mother) ; 
tell  her  that— oh,  Heaven,  that  I  were  dead ! 

PAULINE. 

How  confused  he  looks  !  this  strange  place,  this  wo- 
man— what  can  it  mean?  1  half  suspect — Who  are 
you,  madam  ?  who  are  you  ?  can't  you  speak  ?  are  you 
struck  dumb  1 

WIDOW. 

Claud«,  you  have  not  deceived  her?  Ah,  shame 
upon  you !  I  thought  that,  before  you  went  to  the  altar, 
she  was  to  have  known  all. 

PAULINE. 

All !  what  ?     My  blood  freezes  in  my  veins  1 


60  THE    LADY    OF   LYONS  ;  [ACT   III 

WIDOW. 

Poor  lady  '.  dare  I  tell  her,  Claude  ? 

(Melnotte  makes  a  sign  of  assent.) 

Know  you  not,  then,  madam,  that  this  young  man  is 
of  poor  though  honest  parents  ?  Know  you  not  that 
you  are  wedded  to  my  son,  Claude  Melnotte  ? 

PAULINE. 

Your  son !  hold,  hold !  do  not  speak  to  me.  (Ap- 
proaches Melnotte,  and  lays  her  hand  on  his  arm.)  Is  this 
a  jest  ?  is  it  ?  I  know  it  is  ;  only  speak  ;  one  word, 
one  look,  one  smile.  I  cannot  believe — I  who  loved 
thee  so — I  cannot  believe  that  thou  art  such  a — no,  I 
will  not  wrong  thee  by  a  harsh  word  ;  speak  ! 

MELNOTTE. 

Leave  us  ;  have  pity  on  her,  on  me  :  leave  us. 

WIDOW. 

Oh,  Claude,  that  I  should  live  to  see  thee  bowed  by 
shame  !  thee  of  whom  I  was  so  proud  ! 

[Exit  widow  by  the  staircase. 

PAULINE. 

Her  son,  her  son — 

MELNOTTE. 

Now,  lady,  hear  me. 

PAULINE. 

Hear  thee  ! 

Ay,  speak ;  her  son !  have  fiends  a  parent  1  speak, 
That  thou  mayst  silence  curses  ;  speak  ! 

MELNOTTE. 

No,  curse  me : 
Thy  curse  would  blast  me  less  than  thy  forgiveness. 


SCENE  II.]        OR,    LOVE    AND   PRIDE.  61 

PAULINE  (laughing  wildly). 

•'  This  is  thy  palace,  where  the  perfumed  light 
Steals  through  the  mist  of  alabaster  lamps, 
And  every  air  is  heavy  with  the  sighs         — 
Of  orange  groves,  and  music  from  sweet  lutes. 
And  murmurs  of  low  fountains  that  gush  forth 
I'  the  midst  of  roses  !     Dost  thou  like  the  picture  f* 
This  is  my  bridal  home,  and  thou  my  bridegroom  ! 
Oh  fool,  oh  dupe,  oh  wretch  !     I  see  it  all ; 
The  byword  and  the  jeer  of  every  tongue 
In  Lyons.     Hast  thou  in  thy  heart  one  touch 
Of  human  kindness  ?  if  thou  hast,  why,  kill  me, 
And  save  thy  wife  from  madness.     No,  it  cannot, 
It  cannot  be  ;  this  is  some  horrid  dream  ; 
I  shall  wake  soon.     (Touching  him)   Art   flesh? 

man  ?  or  but 

The  shadows  seen  in  sleep  ?     It  is  too  real. 
"What  have  I  done  to  thee  ?  how  sinn'd  against  thee, 
That  thou  shouldst  crush  me  thus  ? 

,    MELNOTTE. 

Pauline,  by  pride 

Angels  have  fallen  ere  thy  time  ;  by  pride — 
That  sole  alloy  of  thy  most  lovely  mould — 
The  evil  spirit  of  a  bitter  love, 
And  a  revengeful  heart,  had  power  upon  thee. 
From  my  first  years  my  soul  was  fill'd  with  thee  ; 
I  saw  thee  mid  the  flow'rs  the  lowly  boy 
Tended,  unmark'd  by  thee ;  a  spirit  of  bloom, 
And  joy,  and  freshness,  as  if  spring  itself 
Were  made  a  living  thing,  and  wore  thy  shape  ! 
I  saw  thee,  and  the  passionate  heart  of  man 
Enter'd  the  breast  of  the  wild-dreaming  boy  ; 
And  from  that  hour  I  grew — what  to  the  last 
I  shall  be — thine  adorer !     Well ;  this  love, 
Vain,  frantic,  guilty,  if  thou  wilt,  became 
A  fountain  of  ambition  and  bright  hope  ; 
I  thought  of  tales  that  by  the  winter  hearth 
F 


62  THE  LADY  OF  LYONS  J      [ACT  III. 

Old  gossips  tell ;  how  maidens  sprung  from  kings 
Have  stoop'd  from  their  high  sphere ;  how  Love,  like 

Death, 

Levels  all  ranks,  and  lays  the  shepherd's  crook 
Beside  the  sceptre.     Thus  I  made  my  home 
In  the  soft  palace  of  a  fairy  future  ! 
My  father  died  ;  and  I,  the  peasant-born, 
Was  my  own  lord.     Then  did  I  seek  to  rise 
Out  of  the  prison  of  my  mean  estate  ; 
And,  with  such  jewels  as  the  exploring  mind 
Brings  from  the  caves  of  knowledge,  buy  my  ransom 
From  those  twin  jailers  of  the  daring  heart, 
Low  birth  and  iron  fortune.     Thy  bright  image, 
Class'd  in  my  soul,  took  all  the  hues  of  glory. 
And  lured  me  on  to  those  inspiring  toils 
By  which  man  masters  men  !     For  thee  I  grew 
A  midnight  student  o'er  the  dreams  of  sages  ! 
For  thee  I  sought  to  borrow  from  each  grace 
And  every  muse  such  attributes  as  lend 
Ideal  charms  to  love.     I  thought  of  thee, 
And  passion  taught  me  poesy  ;  of  thee, 
And  on  the  painter's  canvass  grew  the  life 
Of  beauty  !     Art  became  the  shadow 
Of  the  dear  starlight  of  thy  haunting  eyes  ! 
Men  call'd  me  vain,  some  mad ;  I  heeded  not. 
But  still  toiled  on,  hoped  on ;  for  it  was  sweet* 
If  not  to  win,  to  feel  more  worthy  thee  ! 

PAULINE. 

Has  he  a  magic  to  exorcise  hate  ! 

MELNOTTE. 

At  last,  in  one  mad  hour,  I  dared  to  pour 
The  thoughts  that  burst  their  channels  into  song, 
And  sent  them  to  thee  ;  such  a  tribute,  lady, 
As  beauty  rarely  scorns,  even  from  the  meanest. 
The  name — appended  by  the  burning  heart 
That  long'd  to  show  its  idol  what  bright  things 
It  had  created — yea,  the  enthusiast's  name, 


SCENE    II.]         OR,    LOVE   AND   PRIDE.  63 

That  should  have  been  thy  triumph,  was  thy  scorn  I 

That  very  hour,  when  passion,  turn'd  to  wrath, 

Resembled  hatred  most ;  when  thy  disdain 

Made  my  whole  soul  a  chaos,  in  that  hour 

The  tempters  found  me  a  revengeful  tool 

For  their  revenge  !     Thou  hadst  trampled  on  the  worm ; 

It  turn'd  and  stung  thee ! 

PAULINE. 

Love,  sir,  hath  no  sting. 
What  was  the  slight  of  a  poor  powerless  girl 
To  the  deep  wrong  of  this  vile  revenge  ? 
Oh,  how  I  loved  this  man !  a  serf !  a  slave  ! 

MELNOTTE. 

Hold,  lady  !     No,  not  slave  !     Despair  is  free ! 
I  will  not  tell  thee  of  the  throes,  the  struggles, 
The  anguish,  the  remorse :  no ;  let  it  pass  ! 
And  let  me  come  to  such  most  poor  atonement 
Yet  in  my  power.     Pauline  ! 

(Approaching  her  with  great  emotion,  and  about  to 
take  her  hand.) 

PAULINE. 

No,  touch  me  not ! 

I  know  my  fate.     You  are,  by  law,  my  tyrant ; 
And  I — oh  Heaven ! — a  peasant's  wife  !     I'll  work, 
Toil,  drudge,  do  what  thou  wilt ;  but  touch  me  not ; 
Let  my  wrongs  make  me  sacred ! 

MELNOTTE. 

Do  not  fear  me. 

Thou  dost  not  know  me,  madam  :  at  the  altar 
My  vengeance  ceased,  my  guilty  oath  expired ' 
Henceforth,  no  image  of  some  marble  saint, 
Niched  in  cathedral  aisles,  is  hallow'd  more 
From  the  rude  hand  of  sacrilegious  wrong. 
I  am  thy  husband  ;  nay,  thou  needst  not  shudder ; 
Here,  at  thy  feet,  I  lay  a  husband's  rights. 


64  THE  LADY  OP  LYONS;      [ACT  III. 

A  marriage  thus  unholy,  unfulfilled, 

A  bond  of  fraud,  is,  by  the  laws  of  France, 

Made  void  and  null.     To-night  sleep ;  sleep  in  peace. 

To-morrow,  pure  and  virgin  as  this  morn 

I  bore  thee,  bathed  in  blushes,  from  the  shrine, 

Thy  father's  arms  shall  take  thee  to  thy  home. 

The  law  shall  do  thee  justice,  and  restore 

Thy  right  to  bless  another  with  thy  love. 

And  when  thou  art  happy,  and  hast  half  forgot 

Him  who  so  loved,  so  wrong'd  thee,  think  at  least 

Heaven  left  some  remnant  of  the  angel  still 

In  that  poor  peasant's  nature  ! 

Ho !  my  mother ! 

(Enter  widow.) 

Conduct  this  lady  (she  is  not  my  wife 

She  is  our  guest,  our  honour'd  guest,  my  mother !) 

To  the  poor  chamber,  where  the  sleep  of  virtue 

Never,  beneath  my  father's  honest  roof, 

Ev'n  villains  dared  to  mar !     Now,  lady,  now 

I  think  thou  wilt  believe  me.     Go,  my  mother ! 

WIDOW. 
She  is  not  thy  wife ! 

MELNOTTE. 

Hush !  hush !  for  mercy's  sake  ! 
Speak  not,  but  go. 

( Widow  ascends  the  stairs ;  Pauline  follows,  weep- 
ing ;  turns  to  look  back). 

MELNOTTE  (sinking  down). 

All  angels  bless  and  guard  her ! 


SCENE   I.]  OR,    LOVE    AND    PRIDE.  65 


ACT   IV. 
SCENE    I. 

The  cottage  as  "before ;  Melnotte  seated  before  a,  table  ; 
writing  implements,  fyc.     (Day  breaking.) 

MELNOTTE. 

Hush,  hush !  she  sleeps  at  last !  thank  Heaven,  for 
a  while  she  forgets  even  that  I  live !  Her  sobs,  which 
have  gone  to  my  heart  the  whole,  long,  desolate  night, 
have  ceased !  all  calm,  all  still !  I  will  go  now ;  I 
will  send  this  letter  to  Pauline's  father ;  when  he  ar- 
rives, I  will  place  in  his  hands  my  own  consent  to  the 
divorce,  and  then,  oh  France !  my  country  !  accept 
among  thy  protectors,  thy  defenders,  the  peasants 
son !  Our  country  is  less  proud  than  custom,  and  does 
not  refuse  the  blood,  the  heart,  the  right  hand  of  the 
poor  man ! 

(Enter  widow.) 
WIDOW. 

My  son,  thou  hast  acted  ill,  but  sin  brings  its  own 
punishment.  In  the  hour  of  thy  remorse,  it  is  not  for 
a  mother  to  reproach  thee  ! 

MELNOTTE. 

What  is  past  is  past.  There  is  a  future  left  to  all 
men  who  have  the  virtue  to  repent  and  the  energy  to 
atone.  Thou  shalt  be  proud  of  thy  son  yet.  Mean- 
while, remember  this  poor  lady  has  been  grievously 
injured.  For  the  sake  of  thy  son's  conscience,  re- 
spect, honour,  bear  with  her.  If  she  weep,  console ;  if 
she  chide,  be  silent !  'Tis  but  a  little  while  more  ;  I 
F2 


% 

66  THE  LADY  OF  LYONS  ;     [ACT  IV. 

shall  send  an  express  fast  as  horse  can  speed  to  her 
father.     Farewell !     I  shall  return  shortly. 


It  is  the  only  course  left  to  thee ;  thou  wert  led 
astray,  but  thou  art  not  hardened.  Thy  heart  is  right 
still,  as  ever  it  was,  when  in  thy  most  ambitious  hopes 
thou  wert  never  ashamed  of  thy  poor  mothef . 

MELNOTTE. 

Ashamed  of  thee  !  No,  if  I  yet  endure,  yet  live, 
yet  hope,  it  is  only  because  I  would  not  die  till  I  have 
redeemed  the  noble  heritage  I  have  lost ;  the  heritage 
I  took  unstained  from  thee  and  my  dead  father :  a  prour' 
conscience  and  an  honest  name.  I  shall  win  them 
back  yet ;  Heaven  bless  you !  [Exit. 

WIDOW. 

My  dear  Claude  !     How  my  heart  bleeds  for  him ! 
(Pauline  looks  down  from  above,  and,  after  a  pause ^ 
descends.) 

PAULINE. 

Not  here !  he  spares  me  that  pain  at  least ;  so  far 
he  is  considerate ;  yet  the  place  seems  still  more  des- 
olate without  him.  Oh  that  I  could  hate  him,  the 
gardener's  son  !  and  yet  how  nobly  he — no,  no,  no,  I 
will  not  be  so  mean  a  thing  as  to  forgive  him ! 

WIDOW. 

Good-morning,  madam  ;  I  would  have  waited  on  you 
if  I  had  known  you  were  stirring. 

PAULINE. 

It  is  no  matter,  ma'am ;  your  son's  wife  ought  to  wait 
on  herself. 

WIDOW. 
My  son's  wife ;  let  not  that  thought  vex  you,  madam ; 


SCENE    I.]  OR,   LOVE   AND   PRIDE.  67 

he  tells  me  that  you  will  have  your  divorce.  And  I 
hope  I  shall  live  to  see  him  smile  again.  There  are 
maidens  in  this  village,  young  and  fair,  madam,  who 
may  yet  console  him. 

PAULINE. 

I  dare  say  ;  they  are  very  welcome  ;  and  when  the 
divorce  is  got  he  will  marry  again.  I  am  sure  I  hope 
so  (weeps'). 

WIDOW. 

He  could  have  married  the  richest  girl  in  the  prov- 
ince if  he  had  pleased  it ;  but  his  head  was  turned, 
poor  child !  he  could  think  of  nothing  but  you  (weeps). 

PAULINE. 
Don't  weep,  mother  I 

WIDOW. 

Ah,  he  has  behaved  very  ill,  I  know  ;  but  love  is  so 
headstrong  in  the  young.  Don't  weep,  madam. 

PAULINE. 
So,  as  you  were  saying — go  on. 


Oh,  I  cannot  excuse  him,  ma'am ;  he  was  not  in  his 
right  senses. 

PAULINE. 

But  he  always — always  (sobbing)  loved — loved  me 
then. 

WIDOW. 

He  thought  of  nothing  else ;  see  here ;  he  learned 
to  paint  that  he  might  take  your  likeness  (uncovers  the 
picture).  But  that's  all  over  now ;  I  trust  you  have 
cured  him  of  his  folly ;  but,  dear  heart,  you  have  had 
no  breakfast ! 


I 
68  THE  LADY  OF  LYONS  ;          [ACT  IV. 

PAULINE. 

I  can't  take  anything  ;  don't  trouble  yourself. 
WIDOW. 

Nay,  madam,  be  persuaded ;  a  little  coffee  will  re- 
fresh you.  Our  milk  and  eggs  are  excellent.  I  will 
get  you  out  Claude's  coffee-cup  ;  it  is  of  real  Sevre  ; 
he  saved  up  all  his  money  to  buy  it  three  years  ago, 
because  the  name  of  Pauline  was  inscribed  on  it. 

PUALINE. 

Three  years  ago  !  Poor  Claude  !  Thank  you.  I 
think  I  will  have  some  coffee.  Oh !  if  he  were  but  a 
poor  gentleman,  even  a  merchant ;  but  a  gardener's  son ; 
and  what  a  home  !  Oh  no,  it  is  too  dreadful ! 

(They  seat   themselves   at  the  table.     Beauseant 
opens  the  lattice  and  looks  in.) 

BEATTSKANT. 

So,  so,  the  coast  is  clear !  I  saw  Claude  in  the  lane  ; 
I  shall  have  an  Excellent  opportunity. 

(Shuts  the  lattice  and  knocks  at  the  door.) 

PAULINE  (starting). 

Can  it  be  my  father  ?  he  has  not  sent  for  him  yet  ? 
No,  he  cannot  be  in  such  a  hurry  to  get  rid  of  me. 

WIDOW. 

It  is  not  time  for  your  father  to  arrive  yet ;  it  must 
be  some  neighbour. 

PAULINE . 

Don't  admit  any  one. 

(Widow  opens   the  door.     Beauseant  pushes  her 

aside  and  enters.) 

Ah !  Heavens  !  that  hateful  Beauseant !  This  is 
indeed  bitter ! 


SCENE  I.]     OR,  LOVE  AND  PRIDE.  69 


BEAUSEANT. 

Good-morning,  madam  !  Oh,  widow,  your  son  begs 
you  will  have  the  goodness  to  go  to  him  in  the  village  ; 
he  wants  to  speak  to  you  on  particular  business ;  you'll 
find  him  at  the  inn,  or  the  grocer's  shop,  or  the  baker's, 
or  at  some  other  friend's  of  your  family ;  make  haste  ! 

PAULINE. 

Don't  leave  me,  mother  !  don't  leave  me  ! 
BEAUSEANT  (with  great  respect). 

Be  not  alarmed,  madam.  Believe  me  your  friend, 
your  servant. 

PAULINE. 

Sir,  I  have  no  fear  of  you,  even  in  this  house  !  Go, 
madam,  if  your  son  wishes  it ;  I  will  not  contradict  his 
commands  while,  at  least,  he  has  still  the  right  to  be 
obeyed. 

WIDOW. 

1  don't  understand  this ;  however,  I  sha'n't  be  long 
gone.  [Exit. 

PAULINE. 

Sir,  I  divine  the  object  of  your  visit ;  you  wish  to  ex- 
ult in  the  humiliation  of  one  who  humbled  you.  Be 
it  so ;  I  am  prepared  to  endure  all,  even  your  presence  ! 

BEAUSEANT. 

You  mistake  me,  madam ;  Pauline,  you  mistake  me ! 
I  come  to  lay  my  fortune  at  your  feet.  You  must  al- 
ready be  disenchanted  with  this  impostor  ;  these  walls 
are  not  worthy  to  be  hallowed  by  your  beauty  !  Shall 
that  form  be  clasped  in  the  arms  of  a  baseborn  peasant  ? 
Beloved,  beautiful  Pauline  !  fly  with  me  ;  my  carriage 
waits  without ;  I  will  bear  you  to  a  home  more  meet 
for  your  reception.  Wealth,  luxury,  station,  all  shall 


70  THE  LADY  OP  LYONS  ;      [ACT  IV. 

yet  be  yours.     I  forget  your.past  disdain  ;  I  remember 
only  your  beauty  and  my  unconquerable  love. 

PAULINE. 

Sir !  leave  this  house  5  it  is  humble  ;  but  a  hus- 
band's roof,  however  lowly,  is,  in  the  eyes  of  God  and 
man,  the  temple  of  a  wife's  honour  I  Know  that  I 
would  rather  starve,  yes  !  with  him  who  has  betrayed 
me,  than  accept  your  lawful  hand,  even  were  you  the 
prince  whose  name  he  bore.  Go  ! 

BEAUSEANT. 

What,  is  not  your  pride  humbled  yet? 

PAULINE. 

Sir,  what  was  pride  in  prosperity  in  affliction  be- 
comes virtue. 

BEAUSEANT. 

Look  round :  these  rugged  floors ;  these  homely 
walls  ;  this  wretched  struggle  of  poverty  for  comfort ; 
think  of  this  !  and  contrast  with  such  a  picture  the  re- 
finement, the  luxury,  the  pomp  that  the  wealthiest  gen- 
tleman of  Lyons  offers  to  the  loveliest  lady.  Ah,  hear 
me! 

PAULINE. 

Oh !  my  father !  why  did  I  leave  you  ?  why  am  1 
thus  friendless  ?  Sir,  you  see  before  you  a  betrayed, 
injured,  miserable  woman  !  respect  her  anguish  ! 

(Melnotte  opens  the  door  silently,  and  pauses  at 
the  threshold.") 

BEAUSEANT. 

No !  let  me  rather  thus  console  it ;  let  me  snatch 
from  those  lips  one  breath  of  that  fragrance  which 
never  should  be  wasted  on  the  low  churl  thy  husband. 

PAULINE. 
Help !  Claude !  Claude !     Have  I  no  protector  ? 


SCENE  I.]      OR,  LOVE  AND  PRIDE.  71 

BEAUSEANT. 

Be  silent !  (Showing  a  pistol)  See,  I  do  not  come 
unprepared  even  for  violence.  I  will  brave  all  things 
— thy  husband  and  all  his  race — for  thy  sake.  Thus, 
then,  I  clasp  thee  ! 

MELNOTTE  (dashing  him  to  the  other  end  of  the  stage). 
Pauline  !  look  up,  Pauline  !  thou  art  safe. 

BEAUSEANT  (levelling  his  pistol). 
Dare  you  thus  insult  a  man  of  my  birth,  ruffian  ? 

PAULINE. 

Oh  spare  him,  spare  my  husband !  Beauseant— - 
Claude — no — no — (faints) . 

MELNOTTE. 

Miserable  trickster !  shame  upon  you !  brave  de- 
vices to  terrify  a  woman !  coward,  you  tremble  ;  you 
have  outraged  the  laws  ;  you  know  that  your  weapon 
is  harmless ;  you  have  the  courage  of  the  mountebank, 
not  the  bravo !  Pauline,  there  is  no  danger. 

BEATTSEANT. 

I  wish  thou  wcrt  a  gentleman  ;  as  it  is,  thou  art 
beneath  me.  Good-day,  and  a  happy  honeymoon. 
(Aside)  I  will  not  die  till  I  am  avenged. 

[Exit  Beauseant. 

MELNOTTE. 

I  hold  her  in  these  arms ;  the  last  embrace  ! 

Never,  ah,  never  more  shall  this  dear  head 

Be  pillow'd  on  the  heart  that  should  have  shelter'd 

And  has  betray'd !     Soft,  soft !  one  kiss ;  poor  wretch  ! 

No  scorn  on  that  pale  lip  forbids  me  now ! 

One  kiss  ;  so  ends  all  record  of  my  crime ! 

It  is  the  seal  upon  the  tomb  of  hope, 

By  which,  like  some  lost,  sorrowing  angel,  sit; 


72  THE    LADY  OF   LYONS;  [ACT    IT. 

Sad  memory  evermore ;  she  breathes,  she  moves ; 
She  wakes  to  scorn,  to  hate,  but  not  to  shudder 
Beneath  the  touch  of  my  abhorred  love. 

(Places  her  on  a  seat.} 
There,  we  are  strangers  now  ! 

PAULINE. 

All  gone,  all  calm ; 

Is  every  thing  a  dream  ?  thou  art  safe,  unhurt ; 
I  do  not  love  thee ;  but — but  I  am  a  woman, 
And — and — no  blood  is  spilled  ? 

MELNOTTE. 

No,  lady,  no ; 

My  guilt  hath  not  deserved  so  rich  a  blessing 
As  even  danger  in  thy  cause. 

(Enter  widow.) 
WIDOW. 

My  son,  I  have  been  everywhere  in  search  of  you ; 
why  did  you  send  for  me  ? 

MELNOTTE. 

I  did  not  send  for  you. 

WIDOW. 
No !  but  I  must  tell  you  your  express  has  returned. 

MELNOTTE. 

So  soon !  impossible ! 

WIDOW. 

Yes,  he  met  the  lady's  father  and  mother  on  the 
road ;  they  were  going  into  the  country  on  a  visit. 
Your  messenger  says  that  Monsieur  Deschappelles 
turned  almost  white  with  anger  when  he  read  your  let- 
ter. They  will  be  here  almost  immediately.  Oh, 
Claude,  Claude !  what  will  they  do  to  you  ?  How  I 


SCENE    I.]  OR,  LOVE    AND    PRIDE.  73 

tremble  !     Ah,  madam !  do  not  let  them  injure  him  ; 
if  you  knew  how  he  doted  on  you ! 

PAULINE. 

Injure  him !  no,  ma'am,  be  not  afraid  ;  my  father  t 
how  shall  I  meet  him?  how  go  back  to  Lyons?  the 
scoff  of  the  whole  city !  Cruel,  cruel  Claude.  (7n 
great  agitation)  Sir,  you  have  acted  most  treacherously. 

MELNOTTE. 

I  know  it,  madam. 

PAULINE. 

(Aside)  If  he  would  but  ask  me  to  forgive  him !  I 
never  can  forgive  you,  sir. 

MELNOTTE. 

I  never  dared  to  hope  it. 

-t'i.  ••VJEQ*  }  ,'i;a_,mi  JtwuT 

PAULINE. 

But  you  are  my  husband  now,  and  I  have  sworn  to 
— to  love  you,  sir. 

MELNOTTE. 

That  was  under  a  false  belief,  madam  ;  Heaven  and 
the  laws  will  release  you  from  your  vow. 

PAULINE. 

He  will  drive  me  mad  !  if  he  were  but  less  proud  ; 
if  he  would  but  ask  me  to  remain  ;  hark,  hark  ;  I  hear 
the  wheels  of  the  carriage.  Sir — Claude,  they  are 
coming ;  have  you  no  word  to  say  ere  it  is  too  late  ? 
quick,  speak. 

MELNOTTE. 

I  can  only  congratulate  you  on  your  release.  Bo- 
hold  your  parents  ! 

6Jn'jU»ft   «..»    .  .*4if   i       >  Ijjjj  ,h".'7   iH»Y   ".i  A      I  vi- 

'.  tud'i  '-rlfifii'tl  TOOV  ile  »i*'j">-..b  to 


T4  THE  LADY  OF  LYONS  J      [ACT  IY. 

(Enter  Monsieur  and  Madame  Deschappettes  and  Co- 
lonel Damas.) 

MONS.  DESCHAP. 

My  child  !  my  child ! 

MADAME  DESCHAP. 

Oh,  my  poor  Pauline !  what  a  villanous  hovel  this 
is  !  Old  woman,  get  me  a  chair ;  I  shall  faint,  I  cer- 
tainly shall.  What  will  the  world  say  ?  Child,  you 
have  been  a  fool.  A  mother's  heart  is  easily  broken. 

DAMAS. 

Ha !  ha !  most  noble  prince,  I  am  sorry  to  see  a 
man  of  your  quality  in  such  a  condition ;  I  am  afraid 
your  highness  will  go  to  the  House  of  Correction. 

MELNOTTB. 

Taunt  on,  sir;  I  spared  you  when  you  were  un- 
armed ;  I  am  unarmed  now.  A  man  who  has  no  ex- 
cuse for  crime  is  indeed  defenceless. 

DAMAS. 
There's  something  fine  in  the  rascal,  after  all ! 

MONS.    DESCHAP. 

Where  is  the  impostor  1  Are  you  thus  shameless, 
traitor  ?  Can  you  brave  the  presence  of  that  girl's 
father? 

MELNOTTE. 

Strike  me,  if  it  please  you ;  you  are  her  father ! 

PAULINE. 

Sir,  sir,  for  my  sake ;  whatever  his  guilt,  he  has 
acted  nobly  in  atonement. 

MADAME    DESCHAP. 

Nobly !  Are  you  mad,  girl  ?  I  have  no  patience 
with  you,  to  disgrace  all  your  family  thus  !  Nobly ! 


SCENE  I.]  OR,    LOVE    AND   PRIDE.  75 

Oh  you  abominable,  hardened,  pitiful,  mean,  ugly  vil- 
lain ! 

r'fOiU  ,«jVC.      .'•J'l.'i:   •.'  >•  •..!••.;  •;•••••. (v/.' ^.ic>q  fciffT 

DAMAS. 

Ugly  1     Why  he  was  beautiful  yesterday ' 

i!  .'  L'iii'l  >  ^VjUMitl'^J        .'    |j''"fri^> 
PAULINE. 

Madam,  this  is  his  roof,  and  he  is  my  husband. 
Respect  your  daughter,  and  let  blame  fall  alone  on  her. 

MADAME    DESCHAP 

You — you — oh,  I'm  choking. 

MONS.    DESCHAP. 

Sir,  it  were  idle  to  waste  reproach  upon  a  conscience 
like  yours ;  you  renounce  all  pretensions  to  the  person 
of  this  lady? 

MELNOTTE. 

I  do.  (Gives  a  paper)  Here  is  my  consent  to  a  di- 
vorce ;  my  full  confession  of  the  fraud,  which  annuls 
the  marriage.  Your  daughter  has  been  foully  wronged, 
I  grant  it,  sir  ;  but  her  own  lips  will  tell  you  that,  from 
the  hour  in  which  she  crossed  this  threshold,  I  re- 
turned to  my  own  station,  and  respected  hers.  Pure 
and  inviolate  as  when  yestermorn  you  laid  your  hand 
upon  her  head  and  blessed  her,  I  yield  her  back  to  you. 
For  myself,  I  deliver  you  for  ever  from  my  presence. 
An  outcast  and  a  criminal,  I  seek  sofffe  distant  land, 
where  I  may  mourn  my  sin  and  pray  for  your  daughter's 
peace.  Farewell,  farewell  to  you  all,  for  ever ! 

V      ^      • 

WIDOW. 

Claude,  Claude,  you  will  not  leave  your  poor  old 
mother  ?  She  does  not  disown  you  in  your  sorrow ; 
no,  not  even  in  your  guilt.  No  divorce  can  separate  a 
mother  from  her  son. 


76  THE    LADY    OF   LYONS;  [ACT  IV. 


PAULINE. 


This  poor  widow  teaches  me  my  duty.  No,  mother, 
no — for  you  are  now  my  mother  also  !  — nor  should  any 
law,  human  or  divine,  separate  the  wife  from  her  hus- 
band's sorrows.  Claude,  Claude,  all  is  forgotten,  for- 
given ;  I  am  thine  for  ever ! 


MADAME    DESCHAP. 


What  do  I  hear?  Come  away,  or  never  see  my 
face  again. 

MONS.    DESCHAP. 

Pauline,  we  never  betrayed  you !  do  you  forsake  us 
for  him  1 

PAULINE  (going  back  to  her  father"). 

Oh,  no  ;  but  you  will  forgive  him  too  ;  we  will  live 
together  ;  he  shall  be  your  son. 

MOMS.    DESCHAP. 

Never !  Cling  to  him  and  forsake  your  parents ! 
His  home  shall  be  yours,  his  fortune  yours,  his  fate 
yours  :  the  wealth  I  have  acquired  by  honest  industry 
shall  never  enrich  the  dishonest  man. 

PAULINE. 

And  you  would  have  a  wife  enjoy  luxury  while  a 
husband  toils  !  Claude,  take  me  ;  thou  canst  not  give 
me  wealth,  titles,  station,  but  thou  canst  give  me  a 
true  heart.  I  will  work  for  thee,  tend  thee,  bear  with 
thee,  and  never,  never  shall  these  lips  reproach  thee  for 
the  past. 

DAMAS. 
I'll  be  hanged  if  I  am  not  going  to  blubber  ! 

MELNOTTE. 

This  is  the'  heaviest  blow  of  all !     What  a  heart  I 


SCENE  1.]      OR,  LOVE  AND  PRIDE.  77 

have  wronged  !  Do  not  fear  me,  sir  ;  I  am  not  all 
hardened  ;  I  will  not  rob  her  of  a  holier  love  than  mine. 
Pauline  !  angel  of  love  and  mercy  !  your  memory 
shall  lead  me  back  to  virtue  !  The  husband  of  a  be- 
ing so  beautiful  in  her  noble  and  sublime  tenderness 
may  be  poor,  may  be  lowborn  (there  is  no  guilt  in  the 
decrees  of  Providence  !),  but  he  should  be  one  who 
can  look  thee  in  the  face  without  a  blush ;  to  whom 
thy  love  does  not  bring  remorse  ;  who  can  fold  thee  to 
his  heart  and  say,  "  Here  there  is  no  deceit !"  I  am 
not  that  man ! 

DAM  AS  (aside  to  Melnotte). 

Thou  art  a  noble  fellow  notwithstanding,  and  wouldst 
make  an  excellent  soldier.  Serre  in  my  regiment.  I 
have  had  a  letter  from  the  Directory  ;  our  young  gen- 
eral takes  the  command  of  the  army  in  Italy  ;  I  am  to 
join  him  at  Marseilles  ;  I  will  depart  this  day  if  thou 
wilt  go  with  me. 

MELNOTTE. 

It  is  the  favour  I  would  have  asked  thee,  if  I  dared. 
Place  me  wherever  a  foe  is  most  dreaded,  wherever 
France  most  needs  a  life  ! 

DAM  AS. 
There  shall  not  be  a  forlorn  hope  without  thee  ! 

MELNOTTE. 

There  is  my  hand !  Mother !  your  blessing.  I 
shall  see  you  again,  a  better  man  than  a  prince  ;  a 
man  who  has  bought  the  right  to  high  thoughts  by  brave 
deeds.  And  thou!  thou!  so  wildly  worshipped,  so 
guiltily  betrayed,  all  is  not  yet  lost !  for  thy  memory, 
at  least,  must  be  mine  till  death !  If  I  live,  the  name 
of  him  thou  hast  once  loved  shall  not  rest  dishonoured  ; 
if  I  fall  amid  the  carnage  and  the  roar  of  battle  my 
soul  will  fly  back  to  thee,  and  Love  shall  share  with 
Death  my  last  sigh !  More,  more  would  I  speak  to 
G2 


78  THE  LADY  OF  LYONS ;       [ACT  V. 

thee  !  to  pray  !  to  bless  !  But  no !  when  I  am  less 
unworthy  I  will  utter  it  to  Heaven!  I  cannot  trust 
myself  to —  ( Turning  to  Deschappelles)  Your  pardon, 
sir  ;  they  are  my  last  words.  Farewell !  [Exit. 

\ 

DAMAS. 

I  will  go  after  him.     France  will  thank  me  for  this. 

[Exit. 

PAULINE  (starting  from  her  father's  arms). 

Claude  !  Claude  !  my  husband  ! 

.-'  ;" 

MONS.    DESCHAP. 

You  have  a  father  still ! 

'.    ..,      ;     .    ;,,      ,,, 

ol  tf.a  I   ;  vhjjj  ;, 


ACT  V. 
SCENE    I. 

(Two  years  and  a  half  from  the  date  of  Act  IV.) 


t  ft  *"*  •  1  1     , 

"•lit  . 

The  streets  of  Lyons. 
(Enter  first,  second,  and  third  officers.) 

FIRST    OFFICER. 

97i;i<i    - 

Well,  here  we  are  at  Lyons,  with  gallant  old  Damas  ; 
it  is  his  native  place. 

SECOND    OFFICER. 

Yes  ;  he  has  gained  a  step  in  the  army  since  he  was 
here  last.  The  Lyonese  ought  to  be  very  proud  of 
stout  General  Damas. 

2O  \    • 


SCENE    I.]  OR,    LOVE    AND    PRIDE.  79 

THIRD    OFFICER 

Promotion  is  quick  in  the  French  army.  This  mys- 
terious Morier,  the  hero  of  Lodi,  and  the  favourite  of 
the  commander-in-chief,  has  risen  to  a  colonel's  rank 
in  two  yeaKs  and  a  half. 

(Enter  Damas  as  a  general.) 
DAM  AS. 

Good-morrow,  gentlemen ;  I  hope  you  will  amuse 
yourselves  during  our  short  stay  at  Lyons.  It  is  a  fine 
city ;  improved  since  I  left  it.  Ah !  it  is  a  pleasure 
to  grow  old,  when  the  years  that  bring  decay  to  our- 
selves do  but  ripen  the  prosperity  of  our  country.  You 
have  not  met  with  Morier  ? 

FIRST   OFFICER. 

No ;  we  were  just  speaking  of  him. 

SECOND    OFFICER. 

Pray,  general,  can  you  tell  us  who  this  Morier  real- 
ly is? 

DAMAS. 
Is  '.  why  a  colonel  in  the  French  army. 

THIRD    OFFICER. 

True.     But  what  was  he  at  first  ? 

DAMAS. 

At  first  ?    Why,  a  baby  in  long  clothes,  I  suppose. 

FIRST  OFFICER. 

Ha !  ha !     Ever  facetious,  general. 

SECOND  OFFICER  (to  third) 

The  general  is  sore  upon  this  point ;  you  will  only 
chafe  him.  Any  commands,  general  ? 


80  THE    LADY    OF    LYONS J  [ACT 


DAMAS. 

None.     Good-day  to  you  ! 

[Exeunt  second  and  third  officers 

H011       3    Zt><iCIO!>    ii     O?     M'.'rT 

DAMAS. 

Our  comrades  are  very  inquisitive.  Poor  Morier  is 
the  subject  of  a  vast  deal  of  curiosity. 

FIRST   OFFICER. 

Say  interest,  rather,  general.  His  constant  melan- 
choly ;  the  loneliness  of  his  habits  ;  his  daring  valour ; 
his  brilliant  rise  in  the  profession ;  your  friendship, 
and  the  favours  of  the  commander-in-chief,  all  tend  to 
make  him  as  much  the  matter  of  gossip  as  of  admira- 
tion. But  where  is  he,  general  •  I  have  missed  him 
all  the  morning. 

DAMAS 

Why,  captain,  I'll  let  you  into  a  secret.  My  young 
friend  has  come  with  me  to  Lyons  in  hopes  of  finding 
a  miracle. 

FIRST    OFFICER. 

A  miracle ! 

DAMAS. 

Yes,  a  miracle.     In  other  words,  a  constant  woman. 

FIRST    OFFICER. 

Oh !  an  affair  of  love ! 

DAMAS. 

Exactly  so.  No  sooner  did  he  enter  Lyons  than  he 
waved  his  hand  to  me,  threw  himself  from  his  horse, 
and  is  now,  I  warrant,  asking  every  one  who  can  know 
anything  about  the  matter  whether  a  certain  lady  is 
still  true  to  a  certain  gentleman ! 


SCENE  I.J     OR,  LOVE  AND  PRIDE.  81 

-*c'  -nil  j,,;!W  fH«fif.fifiI     .Mr  noqir 

FIRST   OFFICER. 

Success  to  him  !  and  of  that  success  there  can  be 
no  doubt.  The  gallant  Colonel  Morier,  the  hero  of 
Lodi,  might  make  his  choice  out  of  the  proudest  fami- 
lies in  France. 

Vli!V    }<m.l»  i)l\>  111   OTHKir  6l{l   hl&Mi 
DAMAS. 

Oh,  if  pride  be  a  recommendation,  the  lady  and  her 
mother  are  most  handsomely  endowed.     By-the-way, 
captain,  if  you  should  chance  to  meet  with  Morier, 
tell  him  he  will  find  me  at  the  hotel. 
in*di  '  o  /     <•:!*•   .nw  iJj}  ;Iooi   }  iA.1 

FIRST    OFFICER. 

-o«L  -'•;;<•".•          ' '  -iL.ii 

I  will,  general.  [Exit. 

DAMAS. 

Now  will  I  go  to  the  Deschappelles,  and  make  a  re- 
port to  my  young  colonel.  Ha  !  by  Mars,  Bacchus, 
Apollo,  Virorum,  here  comes  Monsieur  Beauseant ! 

(Enter  Beauseant.) 

Good-morrow,  Monsieur  Beauseant !  How  fares  it 
with  you  ? 

BEAUSEANT  (aside). 

Damas  !  that  is  unfortunate  ;  if  the  Italian  campaign 
should  have  filled  his  pockets  he  may  seek  to  baffle 
me  in  the  moment  of  my  victory.  (Aloud)  Your  ser- 
vant, general,  for  such,  I  think,  is  your  new  distinction  ! 
Just  arrived  in  Lyons  ? 

DAMAS. 

Not  an  hour  ago.  Well,  how  go  on  the  Deschap- 
pelles ?  Have  they  forgiven  you  in  that  affair  of  young 
Melnotte  ?  You  had  some  hand  in  that  notable  device. 

eh*       ;  r'  ' 
f"  fa  tes-r  or!)  */lil  16<-   •  :  ;  :•  •  ?  f*n 

BEAUSEANT. 

Why,  less  than  you  think  for  !     The  fellow  imposed 


82  THB    LADY    OF   LYONS;  [ACT   T. 

upon  me.  I  have  set  it  all  right  now.  What  has  be- 
come cf  him  ?  He  could  not  have  joined  the  army, 
after  all.  There  is  no  such  name  in  the  books. 

DAMAS. 

I  know  nothing  about  Melnotte.  As  you  say,  I  never 
heard  the  name  in  the  grand  army 

BEATJSEANT. 

Hem  !     You  are  not  married,  general  ? 
DAMAS. 

Do  I  look  like  a  married  man,  sir  ?  No,  thank 
Heaven !  My  profession  is  to  make  widows,  not 
wives. 

BEATTSEANT. 

You  must  have  gained  much  booty  in  Italy !  Pau- 
line will  be  your  heiress,  eh  ? 

DAMAS. 

Booty !  Not  I !  Heiress  to  what  ?  Two  trunks 
and  a  portmanteau,  four  horses,  three  swords,  two  suits 
of  regimentals,  and  six  pairs  of  white  leather  inexpres- 
sibles !  A  pretty  fortune  for  a  young  lady ! 

BEAUSEANT. 

(Aside)  Then  all  is  safe!  (Aloud)  Ha!  ha!  Is 
that  really  all  your  capital,  General  Damas  1  Why,  I 
thought  Italy  had  been  a  second  Mexico  to  you  sol- 
diers. 

DAMAS. 

All  a  toss  up.  sir.  I  was  not  one  of  the  lucky  ones  ! 
My  friend  Morier.  indeed,  saved  something  handsome. 
But  our  commander-in-chief  took  care  of  him,  and  Mo- 
rier is  a  thrifty,  economical  dog ;  not  like  the  rest  of  us 
soldiers,  who  spend  our  money  as  carelessly  as  if  it 
were  our  blood. 


SCENE    I.]  OR,    LOVE    AND    PRIDE. 


BEAUSEANT. 


Well,  it  is  no  matter !  I  do  not  want  fortune  with 
Pauline.  And  you  must  know,  General  Damas,  that 
your  fair  cousin  has  at  length  consented  to  reward  my 
long  and  ardent  attachment. 


DAMAS. 


You !    the  devil !     Why,  she  is  already  married ! 
There  is  no  divorce  ! 


BEAUSEANT. 


True  ;  but  this  very  day  she  is  formally  to  authorize 
the  necessary  proceedings ;  this  very  day  she  is  to 
sign  the  contract  that  is  to  make  her  mine  within  one 
week  from  the  day  on  which  her  present  illegal  mar- 
riage is  annulled. 


DAM  AS. 


You  tell  me  wonders !     Wonders  !     No ;  I  believe 
anything  of  women ! 

BEAUSEANT. 

I  must  wish  you  good-morning. 

(As  he  is  going,  enter  Deschappelles.) 

MONS.    DESCHAP 

Oh,  Beauseant !  well  met.    Let  us  come  to  the  no- 
tary  at  once. 

DAMAS  (to  Deschappelles). 
Why,  cousin ! 

MONS.    DESCHAP. 

Damas,  welcome  to  Lyons.     Pray  call  on  us ;  my 

wife  will  be  delighted  to  see  you. 

0  J        i  1'irw  mw  i  >r>ot>o 

DAMAS. 

Your  wife  be — blessed  for  her  condescension !     But 


84  THE  LADY  OF  LYONS  ;       [ACT  V. 

(taking  him  aside)  what  do  I  hear  ?     Is  it  possible  that 
your  daughter  has  consented  to  a  divorce  ?  that  she 
will  marry  Monsieur  Beauseant  ? 
aufr  .*K,,nJ  fimtnV)  .-v 

MONS.    DESCHAP. 

Certainly  !  What  have  you  to  say  against  it  ?  A 
gentleman  of  birth,  fortune,  character.  We  are  not 
so  proud  as  we  were ;  even  my  wife  has  had  enough 
of  nobility  and  princes  ! 

DAMAS. 
But  Pauline  loved  that  young  man  so  tenderly ! 

MONS.  DESCHAP.  (taking  snuff). 
That  was  two  years  and  a  half  ago ! 

DAMAS. 

Very  true.     Poor  Melnotte  ! 

MONS.    DESCHAP. 

But  do  not  talk  of  that  impostor ;  I  hope  he  is  dead 
or  has  left  the  country.  Nay,  even  were  he  in  Lyons 
at  this  moment,  he  ought  to  rejoice  that,  in  an  honour- 
able and  suitable  alliance,  my  daughter  may  forget  her 
sufferings  and  his  crime. 

DAMAS. 

Nay,  if  it  be  all  settled,  I  have  no  more  to  say. 
Monsieur  Beauseant  informs  me  that  the  contract  is  to 
be  signed  this  very  day. 

MONS.    DESCHAP. 

It  is ;  at  one  o'clock  precisely.  Will  you  be  one 
of  the  witnesses  ? 

.HAWiioaOt    .*XOM 
DAMAS. 

"I!     No;   that  is  to  say — yes,  certainly!    at  one 
o'clock  I  will  wait  on  you. 

MONS.    DESCHAP. 

'Till  then,  adieu  ;  come,  Beauseant. 

[Exeunt  Beauseant  and  Deschappelles . 


SCENE    I.]  OR,    LOVE    AND   PRIDE. 


The  man  who  sets  his  heart  upon  a  woman 
Is  a  chameleon,  and  doth  feed  on  air ; 
From  air  he  takes  his  colours,  holds  his  life, 
Changes  with  every  wind,  grows  lean  or  fat ; 
Rosy  with  hope,  or  green  with  jealousy, 
Or  pallid  with  despair,  just  as  the  gale 
Varies  from  north  to  south,  from  heat  to  cold ! 
Oh,  woman !  woman  !  thou  shouldst  have  few  sins 
Of  thine  own  to  answer  for !     Thou  art  the  author 
Of  such  a  book  of  follies  in  a  man, 
That  it  would  need  the  tears  of  all  the  angels 
To  blot  the  record  out ! 

(Enter  Melnotte,  pale  and  agitated.) 

I  need  not  tell  thee  !     Thou  hast  heard — 

ut-irwA  r»v«M  if.W 

MELNOTTE. 

The  worst ! 
I  have ! 

DAMAS. 

'  t •""  '     j/(Mf  '    ;i!    ' 

Be  cheer'd ;  others  are  as  fair  as  she  is ! 

MELNOTTE. 

Others  !     The  world  is  crumbled  at  my  feet ! 
She  was  my  world ;  fill'd  up  the  whole  of  being, 
Smiled  in  the  sunshine,  walk'd  the  glorious  earth, 
Sat  in  my  heart,  was  the  sweet  life 'of  life. 
The  past  was  hers  :  I  dream'd  not  of  a  future 
That  did  not  wear  her  shape !     Mem'ry  and  hope 
Alike  are  gone.     Pauline  is  faithless  !     Henceforth 
The  universal  space  is  desolate  ! 


Hope  yet. 

jj 


86  THE    LADY    OF    LYONS  J  [ACT   Y. 


MELNOTTE. 

Hope,  yes  !   one  hope  is  left  me  still ; 
A  soldier's  grave  !     Glory  has  died  with  love ; 
I  look  into  my  heart,  and,  where  I  saw 
Pauline,  see  death ! 

(After  a  pause)  But  am  I  not  deceived  ? 
I  went  but  by  the  rumour  of  the  town  ; 
Rumour  is  false  ;  I  was  too  hasty  !     Damas, 
Whom  hast  thou  seen  ? 


Thy  rival  and  her  father. 
Arm  thyself  for  the  truth !     He  heeds  not — 

MELNOTTE. 

She 

Will  never  know  how  deeply  she  was  loved  ! 
The  charitable  night,  that  wont  to  bring 
Comfort  to  day  in  bright  and  eloquent  dreams, 
Is  henceforth  leagued  with  misery !     Sleep,  farewell, 
Or  else  become  eternal  !     Oh,  the  waking 
From  false  oblivion,  and  to  see  the  sun, 
And  know  she  is  another's  1 

r'»    '"  :  •?•'      : 

DAMAS. 

Be  a  man. 

Jj'/K  '(JK.  lAjuUkftiuV* 
MELNOTTE. 

I  am  a  man !  it  is  the  sting  of  wo 
Like  mine  that  tells  us  we  are  men  ! 

DAMAS. 

The  false  one 
Did  not  deserve  thee.  ' 

MELNOTTE. 

Hush  !     No  word  against  her  ! 
Why  should  she  keep,  through  years  and  silent  absence, 


SCENE    I.]  OR,    LOVE    AND    PRIDE.  87 

The  holy  tablets  of  her  virgin  faith 

True  -to  a  traitor's  name  ?     Oh,  blame  her  not ; 

It  were  a  sharper  grief  to  think  her  worthless 

Than  to  be  what  I  am  !     To-day,  to-day ! 

They  said  "  to-day  !"     This  day,  so  wildly  welcomed, 

This  day  my  soul  had  singled  out  of  time 

And  mark'd  for  bliss  !     This  day !  oh,  could  I  see  her, 

See  her  once  more,  unknown  ;  but  hear  her  voice, 

So  that  one  echo  of  its  music  might 

Make  ruin  less  appalling  in  its  silence. 

DAMAS. 

Easily  done  !     Come  with  me  to  her  house  ; 
Your  dress,  your  cloak,  mustache,  the  bronzed  hues 
Of  time  and  toil,  the  name  you  bear,  belief 
In  your  absence,  all  will  ward  away  suspicion. 
Keep  in  the  shade.     Ay,  I  would  have  you  come. 
There  may  be  hope  !     Pauline  is  yet  so  young, 
They  may  have  forced  her  to  these  second  bridals 
Out  of  mistaken  love. 

MELNOTTE. 

No,  bid  me  hope  not ! 
Bid  me  not  hope  !     I  could  not  bear  again 
To  fall  from  such  a  heaven  !     One  gleam  of  sunshine, 
And  the  ice  breaks,  and  I  am  lost !     Oh,  Damas, 
There's  no  such  thing  as  courage  in  a  man  ; 
The  veriest  slave  that  ever  crawl'd  from  danger 
Might  spurn  me  now.     When  first  I  lost  her,  Damas, 
I  bore  it,  did  I  not  ?     I  still  had  hope, 
And  now  I — I —  (Bursts  into  an  agony  ofgnef.) 

DAMAS. 

What,  comrade  !  all  the  women 
That  ever  smiled  destruction  on  brave  hearts 
Were  not  worth  tears  like  these ! 

MKLNOTTE. 

'Tis  past,  forget  it 


88  THE  LADY  OP  LYONS  ;       [ACT  V- 

I  am  prepared  ;  life  has  no  further  ills  ! 
The  cloud  has  broken  in  that  stormy  rain, 
And  on  the  waste  I  stand,  alone  with  Heaven  ! 

DAM  AS. 

His  very  face  is  changed  ;  a  breaking  heart 

Does  its  work  soon!     Come,  Melnotte,  rouse  thyself: 

One  effort  more.     Again  thou'lt  see  her. 

MELNOTTE. 

See  her  ! 

There  is  a  passion  in  that  simple  sentence 
That  shivers  all  the  pride  and  power  of  reason 
Into  a  chaos  ! 


It  be  too  late. 


DAM  AS. 
Time  wanes  ;  come,  ere  yet 

^ii.  o;  i 

MELNOTTE. 

Terrible  words,  "  Too  late  /" 
Lead  on.     One  last  look  more,  and  then  — 
!  lyn  "JCJ0H  .<m.' 

DAMAS. 

Forget  her  ! 

MELNOTTE. 

Forget  her,  yes  !     For  death  remembers  not.  [Exeunt  . 


SCENE  II. 

,  A  room  in  the  house  of  Monsieur  Deschappelles  ;  Pau- 
line seated  in  great  dejection. 

PAULINE. 

Is  it  so,  then.     I  must  be  false  to  love, 


SCENE    II.]  OR,    LOVE    AND    PRIDE.  89 

•^ 

Or  sacrifice  a  father !     Oh,  my  Claude, 
My  lover,  and  my  husband  !  have  I  lived 
To  pray  that  thou  mayst  find  some  fairer  boon 
Than  the  deep  faith  of  this  devoted  heart, 
Nourish'd  till  now,  now  broken  ? 

(Enter  Monsieur  Deschappettes.) 

MONS.    DESCIIAP. 

My  dear  child, 

How  shall  I  thank,  how  bless  thee  ?     Thou  hast  saved, 
I  will  not  say  my  fortune — I  could  bear 
Reverse,  and  shrink  not — but  that  prouder  wealth 
Which  merchants  value  most ;  my  name,  my  credit, 
"The  hard-won  honours  of  a  toilsome  life  : 
These  thou  hast  saved,  my  child ! 

PAULINE. 

Is  there  no  hope  ? 
No  hope  but  this  ? 

MONS.  DESCHAP. 

None.     If,  without  the  sum 
Which  Beauseant  offers  for  thy  hand,  this  day 
Sinks  to  the  west,  to-morrow  brings  our  ruin ! 
And  hundreds,  mingled  in  that  ruin,  curse 
The  bankrupt  merchant !  and  the  insolent  herd 
We  feasted  and  made  merry  cry  in  scorn, 
"  How  pride  has  fallen  !     Lo,  the  bankrupt  merchant !" 
My  daughter,  thou  hast  saved  us  ! 

PAULINE. 

And  am  lost ! 

MONS.  DESCHAP. 

Come,  let  me  hope  that  Reauseant's  love — 

PAULINE. 

His  love ! 
H2 


90  THE  LADY  OF  LYONS  J       [ACT  V. 

Talk  not  of  love ;  love  has  no  thought  of  self ! 
Love  buys  not  "with  the  ruthless  usurer's  gold 
The  loathsome  prostitution  of  a  hand 
Without  a  heart  T     Love  sacrifices  all  things 
To  bless  the  thing  it  loves !     He  knows  not  love. 
Father,  his  love  is  hate,  his  hope  revenge  ! 
My  tears,  my  anguish,  my  remorse  for  falsehood ; 
These  are  the  joys  he  wrings  from  our  despair ! 

MONS.  DESCHAP. 

If  thou  deemst  thus,  reject  him !     Shame  and  ruin 
Were  better  than  thy  misery ;  think  no  more  on't. 
My  sand  is  wellnigh  run ;  what  boots  it  when 
The  glass  is  broken  ?     We'll  annul  the  contract. 
And  if  to-morrow  in  the  prisoner's  cell 
These  aged  limbs  are  laid,  why  still,  my  child, 
I'll  think  thou  art  spared ;  and  wait  the  liberal  hour 
That  lays  the  beggar  by  the  side  of  kings  ! 

PAULINE. 

No,  no,  forgive  me !     You,  my  honoured  father ; 
You,  who  so  loved,  so  cherish  d  me,  whose  lips 
Never  knew  one  harsh  word  !     I'm  not  ungrateful, 
I  am  but  human  !  hush !    Now,  call  the  bridegroom ; 
You  see  I  am  prepared  ;  no  tears  ;  all  calm  ; 
But,  father,  talk  no  more  of  love  ! 

MONS.    DESCHAP. 

My  child, 

Tis  but  one  struggle  ;  he  is  young,  rich,  noble  ; 
Thy  state  will  rank  first  mid  the  dames  of  Lyons  ; 
And  when  this  heart  can  shelter  thee  no  more, 
Thy  youth  will  not  be  guardianless. 

PAULINE. 

I  have  set 

My  foot  upon  the  ploughshare ;  I  will  pass 
The  fiery  ordeal.     (Aside)  Merciful  Heaven,  support 
me ! 


SCENE    II.]  OB,    LOVE    AND   PRIDB.  91 

And  on  the  absent  wanderer  shed  the  light 
Of  happier  stars,  lost  evermore  to  me  ! 

{Enter  Madame  Deschapelles,  Beauseant,  Glavis,  and 
Notary. ) 

MADAME    DESCHAP. 

Why,  Pauline,  you  are  quite  in  deshabille;  you 
ought  to  be  more  alive  to  the  importance  of  this  joy- 
ful occasion.  We  had  once  looked  higher,  it  is  true  ; 
but  you  see,  after  all,  Monsieur  Beauseant's  father 
was  a  marquis,  and  that's  a  great  comfort !  Pedigree 
and  jointure  !  you  have  them  both  in  Monsieur  Beau- 
seant. A  young  lady  decorously  brought  up  should 
only  have  two  considerations  in  her  choice  of  a  hus- 
band :  first,  is  his  birth  honourable  ?  secondly,  will  his 
death  be  advantageous  ?  All  other  trifling  details 
should  be  left  to  parental  anxiety  ! 

BEAUSEANT  {approaching,  and  waving  aside  madame). 

Ah,  Pauline !  let  me  hope  that  you  are  reconciled 
to  an  event  which  confers  such  rapture  upon  me. 

PAULINE. 

I  am  reconciled  to  my  doom. 

.1  y>?i*adw>  ad  OJ 

BEAUSEANT. 

Doom  is  a  harsh  word,  sweet  lady. 

!  ynoell 

PAULINE  (aside). 

This  man  must  have  some  mercy;  his  heart  cannot 
be  marble.  (Aloud)  Oh,  sir,  be  just,  be  generous  ! 
Seize  a  noble  triumph,  a  great  revenge!  Save  the 
father  and  spare  the  child ! 

BEAUSEANT  (aside). 

Joy,  joy  alike  to  my  hatred  and  my  passion !  The 
haughty  Pauline  is  at  last  my  suppliant.  (Aloud)  You 
ask  from  me  what  I  have  not  the  sublime  virtue  to 


92  THE  LADY  OF  LYONS  ;       [ACT  V. 

grant ;  a  virtue  reserved  only  for  the  gardener's  son ! 
I  cannot  forego  my  hopes  in  the  moment  of  their  ful- 
filment !  I  adhere  to  the  contract ;  your  father's  ruin, 
or  your  hand ! 

PAULINE. 

Then  all  is  over.     Sir,  I  have  decided. 

( The  clock  strikes  one.) 

(Enter  Damas  and  Melnotte.) 

DAMAS. 

Your  servant,  Cousin  Deschapelles.  Let  me  in- 
troduce Colonel  Morier. 

MADAME  DESCHAP.  (courtesying  very  low). 

What,  the  celebrated  hero?  This  is  indeed  an 
honour ! 

(Melnotte  bows  and  remains  in  the  background.) 

DAMAS  (to  Pauline). 

My  little  cousin,  I  congratulate  you!  What,  no 
smile,  no  blush?  You  are  going  to  be  divorced  from 
poor  Melnotte,  and  marry  this  rich  gentleman.  You 
ought  to  be  excessively  happy  ! 

PAULINE. 
Happy ! 

DAMAS. 

Why,  how  pale  you  are,  child !  Poor  Pauline  ! 
Hist !  confide  in  me  !  Do  they  force  you  to  this  ? 

PAULINE. 

No! 

DAMAS. 

You  act  with  your  own  free  consent  ? 


SCENE    IT.]  OR,    LOVE    AND  .PRIDE.  93 

PAULINE. 

My  own  consent,  yes. 

DAMAS. 

Then  you  are  the  most — I  will  not  say  what  you  are. 

PAULINE. 
You  think  ill  of  me  ;  be  it  so  ;  yet  if  you  knew  all — 

DAMAS. 
There  is  some  mystery  ;  speak  out,  Pauline. 

PAULINE  (suddenly). 
•" 

Oh !  perhaps  you  can  save  me !  you  are  our  rela- 
tion, our  friend.  My  father  is  on  the  verge  of  bank- 
ruptcy ;  this  day  he  requires  a  large  sum  to  meet  de- 
mands that  cannot  be  denied  ;  that  sum  Beauseant  will 
advance,  this  hand  the  condition  of  the  barter.  Save 
me  if  you  have  the  means  ;  save  me !  You  will  be 
repaid  above ! 

DAMAS  (aside). 

I  recant.  Women  are  not  so  bad,  after  all !  (Aloud) 
Humph,  child !  I  cannot  help  you  ;  I  am  too  poor ! 

PAULINE. 

The  last  plank  to  which  I  clung  is  shivered  ! 

DAMAS. 

Hold  ;  you  see  my  friend  Morier :  Melnotte  is  his 
most  intimate  friend ;  fought  in  the  same  fields,  slept 
in  the  same  tent.  Have  you  any  message  to  send  to 
Melnotte  ?  any  word  to  soften  this  blow  ? 

PAULINE. 

He  knows  Melnotte  ;  he  will  see  him  ;  he  will  bear 
to  him  my  last  farewell.  (Approaches  Melnotte)  He 


94  THE  LADY  OF  LYONS  ;      [ACT  V. 

has  a  stern  air ;  he  turns  away  from  me ;  he  despises 
me  !     Sir,  one  word,  I  beseech  you. 

MELNOTTE. 

Her  voice  again!  How  the  old  time  comes  o'er 
me! 

DAMAS  (to  madame). 

Don't  interrupt  them.  He  is  going  to  tell  her  what 
a  rascal  young  Melnotte  is;  he  knows  him  well,  I 
promise  you. 

MADAME    DESCHAP. 

So  considerate  in  you,  Cousin  Damas  ! 

(Damas  approaches  Deschappelles ;  converses  apart 
with  him  in  dumb  show,  Deschappelles  shows 
him  a  paper,  which  he  inspects  and  takes.) 

PAULINE. 

Thrice  have  I  sought  to  speak ;  my  courage  fails  me. 
Sir,  is  it  true  that  you  have  known,  nay,  are 
The  friend  of  Melnotte  t 

MELNOTTE. 

Lady,  yes  !     Myself 
And  misery  know  the  man  ! 

PAULINE. 

And  you  will  see  him, 

And  you  will  bear  to  him,  ay,  word  for  word, 
All  that  this  heart,  which  breaks  in  parting  from  him, 
Would  send,  ere  still  for  ever. 

OfriKIj'.  -j'-'v;    ->)rrt   tpn  (       '   .;  : .!  .       .UVV     • 
MELNOTTE. 

He  hath  told  me 

You  have  the  right  to  choose  from  out  the  world 
A  worthier  bridegroom  ;  he  foregoes  all  claim 
Even  to  murmur  at  his  doom.     Speak  on  ! 


SCENE  II.]  OR,    LOVE  AND    PRIDE.  95 


PAULINE. 

Tell  him,  for  years  I  never  nursed  a  thought 
That  was  not  his  ;  that  on  his  wandering  way, 
Daily  and  nightly,  poured  a  mourner's  prayers. 
Tell  him  ev'n  now  that  I  would  rather  share 
His  lowliest  lot,  walk  by  his  side,  an  outcast ; 
Work  for  him,  beg  with  him  ;  live  upon  the  light 
Of  one  kind  smile  from  him,  than  wear  the  crown 
The  Bourbon  lost ! 

MELNOTTE  (aside). 

Am  I  already  mad? 

And  does  delirium  utter  such  sweet  words 
Into  a  dreamer's  ear  ?     (Aloud)  You  love  him  thus, 
And  yet  desert  him  ? 

PAULINE. 

Say  that,  if  his  eye 

Could  read  this  heart,  its  struggles,  its  temptations, 
His  love  itself  would  pardon  that  desertion ! 
Look  on  that  poor  old  man ;  he  is  my  father  ; 
He  stands  upon  the  verge  of  an  abyss  ; 
He  calls  his  child  to  save  him !     Shall  I  shrink 
From  him  who  gave  me  birth  ?  withhold  my  hand, 
And  see  a  parent  perish  ?     Tell  him  this, 
And  say  that  we  shall  meet  again  in  Heaven  ! 

MELNOTTE  (aside). 

The  night  is  past ;  joy  cometh  with  the  morrow. 
(Aloud)  Lady,  I — I — what  is  this  riddle  ?  what 
The  nature  of  this  sacrifice  ? 

PAULINE  (pointing  to  Damas). 

Go  ask  him ! 
BEAUSEANT  (from  the  table). 

The  papers  are  prepared  ;  we  only  need 
Your  hand  and  seal. 


96  THE    LADY    OF   LYONS  ;  [ACT  V. 


MELNOTTE. 

Stay,  lady  ;  one  word  more. 
Were  but  your  duty  with  your  faith  united, 
Would  you  still  share  the  lowborn  peasant's  lot  ? 

PAULINE. 

Would  I  ?     Ah,  better  death  with  him  I  love 
Than  all  the  pomp,  which  is  but  as  the  flowers 
That  crown  the  victim  !  (turning  away)  I  am  ready. 
(Melnotte  rushes  to  Damas.) 

DAMAS. 

There, 
This  is  the  schedule,  this  the  total. 

BEATJSEANT  (to  Deschappelles,  showing  notes). 

These 

Are  yours  the  instant  she  has  signed ;  you  are 
Still  the  great  house  of  Lyons  ! 

(The  notary  is  about  to  hand  the  contract  to  Pauline, 
when  Melnotte  seizes  and  tears  it.) 

BEATTSEANT. 

Are  you  mad  ? 

MONS.    DESCHAP. 

How,  sir  !     What  means  this  insult  ? 

MELNOTTE. 

Peace,  old  man ! 

I  have  a  prior  claim.     Before  the  face 
Of  man  and  Heaven  I  urge  it !     I  outbid 
Yon  sordid  huckster  for  your  priceless  jewel. 

(Giving  a  pocketbook.) 

There  is  the  sum  twice  told  !     Blush  not  to  take  it : 
There's  not  a  coin  that  is  not  bought  and  hallow'd 
In  the  cause  of  nations  with  a  soldier's  blood ! 


SCENE    II.]  OR,    LOVE    AND    PRIDE.  97 

BEAUSEANT. 

Torments  and  death ! 

PAULINE. 

That  voice  !     Thou  art — 

MELNOTTE. 

Thy  husband ! 
{Pauline  rushes  into  his  arms.) 

MELNOTTE. 

Look  up  !     Look  up,  Pauline  !  for  I  can  bear 
Thine  eyes !     The  stain  is  blotted  from  my  name. 
I  have  redeem'd  mine  honour.     I  can  call 
On  France  to  sanction  thy  divine  forgiveness ! 
Oh,  joy  !  oh,  rapture  !     By  the  midnight  watchfires 
Thus  have  I  seen  thee !  thus  foretold  this  hour  ! 
And,  mid  the  roar  of  battle,  thus  have  heard 
The  beating  of  thy  heart  against  my  own ! 

'  v^  '  ' :  >'•'' '•'  /li*  wo  }i:fJ 

BEAUSEANT. 

Fool'd,  duped,  and  triumph'd  over  in  the  hour 
Of  mine  own  victory  !     Curses  on  ye  both  ! 
May  thorns  be  planted  in  the  marriage  bed ! 
And  love  grow  sour'd  and  blacken'd  into  hate, 
Such  as  the  hate  that  gnaws  me  ! 

DAMAS. 

Curse  away  ! 

And  let  me  tell  thee,  Beauseant,  a  wise  proverb 
The  Arabs  have :  "  Curses  are  like  young  chickens, 

(Solemnly.) 
And  still  come  home  to  roost !" 

BEAUSEANT. 

Their  happiness 
Maddens  my  soul !     I  am  powerless  and  revengeless  ! 


98  THE  LADY  OF  LYONS  ;       [ACT  V. 

( To  madame.) 
I  wish  you  joy !     Ha,  ha  !     The  gardener's  son  ! 

[Exit. 

DAM  AS  (to  Glavis). 

Your  friend  intends  to  hang  himself !     Methinks 
You  ought  to  be  hia  travelling  companion  ! 

GLAVIS. 
Sir,  you  are  exceedingly  obliging !  [Exit. 

PAULINE. 

Oh! 

My  father,  you  are  saved,  and  by  my  husband  ! 
Ah  !  blessed  hour  ! 

MELNOTTE. 

Yet  you  weep  still,  Pauline  ! 

PAT7LINE. 

But  on  thy  breast !  these  tears  are  sweet  and  holy  ! 

MONS.    DESCHAF. 

You  have  won  love  and  honour  nobly,  sir ! 
Take  her  ;  be  happy  both  ! 

MADAME    DESCHAP. 

I'm  all  astonish'd  ! 
Who,  then,  is  Colonel  Morier  ? 

DAM  AS. 

You  behold  him ! 

MELNOTTE. 

Morier  no  more  after  this  happy  day  ! 

I  would  not  bear  again  my  father's  name 

Till  I  could  deem  it  spotless  !     The  hour's  come  ! 

Heaven  smiled  on  conscience !     As  the  soldier  rose 


SCENK  II.]  OR,   LOVE    AND    PRIDE.  99 

From  rank  to  rank,  how  sacred  was  the  fame 
That  cancell'd  crime  and  raised  him  nearer  thee ! 

MADAME    DESCHAP. 

A  colonel  and  a  hero !     Well,  that's  something  ! 
He's  wondrously  improved  !     I  wish  you  joy,  sir ! 

MELNOTTE. 

Ah !  the  same  love  that  tempts  us  into  sin, 
If  it  be  true  love,  works  out  its  redemption ; 
And  he  who  seeks  repentance  for  the  past 
Should  woo  the  angel  virtue  in  the  future  ! 


THE    END. 


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with  Itself  and  with  Human  Reason.  By  Philip  Nicholas  Shut- 
tleworth,  D.D.  18mo. 

Luther  and  the  Lutheran  Reformation.     By  the  Rev. 

John  Scott,  A.M.    In  2  vols.  18mo.    With  Portraits. 

History  of  the  Reformed  Religion  in  France.     By  the 

Rev.  Edward  Smedley.    In  3  vols.  18mo.     With  Engravings. 

A  Narrative  of  the  Visit  to  the  American  Churches,  by 
the  Deputation  from  the  Congregational  Union  of  England  and 
Wales.  By  Andrew  Reed,  D.D.  and  James  Matheson,  D  D.  In 
2  vols.  12mo. 

No  Fiction  :  a  Narrative  founded  on  Recent  and  In- 
teresting Facts.  By  the  Rev  Andrew  Reed,  D.D  New  Edi 
tion.  12mo. 


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